


The Order of Avalon: The Emrys Quest

by kriadydragon



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-26
Packaged: 2017-12-03 04:24:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 38,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/694091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kriadydragon/pseuds/kriadydragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Merlin ever wanted was to be a mechanic in peace without anyone giving him grief for the magic he was born with. But his life is flipped upside down when he is sucked into an epic adventure alongside the famous protectors of the realm, The Order of Avalon, as they set out in search of the mysterious Emrys. Magic, mechanical dragons and swashbuckling abounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Merlin Reverse Big Bang. Art work pending.

Merlin clutched the controls with sweating palms and swallowed back some of his mounting unease. He banked right, moving over the great sprawling city of Camelot with its towering buildings both ancient and modern, like a forest of human ingenuity reaching for the clouds. It looked endless from so high up, but while Merlin awed over such magnificence gleaming in the midday sun, his heart lodged in his throat as he began his descent toward that very city. 

Merlin had faith in his beautiful machine. What he didn't have faith in was his skill to maneuver it through the taller structures. He'd only ever had the fallow fields to practice in, and had made it a point to stay clear of the forests – because who in their right mind steered a flyer into a woodland? Magic made control of his machine a thing of beauty but not of perfection, because a machine was only as good as its pilot, all the more so since it was Merlin's mind more than his hands doing the steering. 

There was also the little issue of how people might react to a flying machine that looked remarkably like a dragon. 

Merlin swept low over the city stretched out beneath him through the viewing window of his machine. Everything became a near-blur, making it next to impossible to tell one building from the next. Merlin's heart gave his ribs an almighty kick when he thought for sure he was heading in the wrong direction, the guidance tower nowhere in sight. But a quick adjustment in the form of a mental nudge to the right and there the thing was, rising like a miniature Eiffel Tower from the forest of buildings. Merlin exhaled a relieved breath and aimed for it. 

Landing was no great feat for Merlin, Ealdor being a favorite testing ground for new flyers, and that meant hangars and runways galore to choose from. But neither did his machine land like most flyers. After announcing his arrival over the crackling communications box and getting permission to land, Merlin angled his machine for the tongue of runway jutting from the great domed-glass hangar. One pull of a lever and the machine hummed as the legs eased themselves from the body. Another pull of another lever, and Merlin could hear the thunderous clap of flapping canvas wings. 

His machine didn't squeal and peel across the runway, it slowed, it touched down, and settled like a bird easing into it's nest. Merlin smiled. He couldn't help feeling a little smug about the way the runway men gathered and gaped at such a simple touchdown, or that they seemed a bit dazed when the machine began to move so flawlessly, like something that truly was alive rather than mechanical, into the hangar. Machines made to mimic living creatures weren't uncommon but the large ones meant for transport were clunky, uncouth things that moved more like infants taking their first steps. Even rarer were the machines that mimicked flying creatures, since getting the landings right without the use of magic was not only tricky but deadly.

Merlin mentally steered his machine through the great doors of the hangar. The place was a chaotic hive of mechanics and pilots working on a variety of flying machines, some as small as a horse, others bigger than Merlin's dragon. A pull of a third lever and the dragon's wings folded themselves against the metal sides. Merlin then backed the machine into the nearest available parking space, then he flipped switches, pulled a fourth lever and the machine lowered itself to the ground like a cat settling in for a nap. The machine's great head lowered to the ground. Merlin pressed a button that slid the cockpit covers back, scrabbled out and hopped from the dragon's head with ease. 

“Gah, that thing's a bloody beauty!” an airman crowed. He was an old gent, heavy-set with graying hair and a beard, his face and coveralls grimy with oil. He looked Merlin up and down, frowning at his patched and filthy brown aviator coat and equally filthy trousers. “How's a bit like you afford something like this?” 

“A little at a time,” Merlin said, lowering his goggles to let them hang from his neck. He beamed, standing tall. “I built it.”

“You didn't,” the man exclaimed, which only made Merlin beam all the more.

“I did, actually,” Merlin said, mildly affronted. He looked up at his creation, so much like the dragons of legend, gleaming copper and gold – not real copper and gold, of course, merely the result of the protectorates coating the metal to keep it rust free. But each part, each metal plate and each metal joint had been crafted with care, shaped and treated not simply to vaguely resemble a dragon, but to _be_ a dragon in just about every way. Merlin even had plans to make it capable of breathing fire.

“Ealdor ingenuity, right there,” Merlin said proudly, patting the metal leg. 

“Huh,” the man scoffed. “If that's country work I'll eat my goggles. That's probably just scrap you prettied up.” He stomped off in a huff.

“Don't mind Eli,” someone said, “He's just jealous is all. He still needs a manual just to remember where to put the bloody steering box half the time.” Laughter rippled through the hangar.

Merlin ignored it all, staring up as his creation. He'd gotten the idea after stumbling onto a trunk that had belonged to his father, full of notes on how to make mechanical creatures more alive. Merlin had been ten at the time, and so enraptured by the idea that he spent half his life making his dream possible – collecting scraps where he could, buying what he could, paying the metal smith to shape the metal when he could, and spending every moment not in school apprenticing with whatever mechanic would take him. 

The only other interest in Merlin's life had been his magic, but that, too, he had used to make his creation real. It had made him feel less of a freak, giving the power he was born with purpose – power that came to him as naturally as breathing, which the people of his village had said wasn't natural at all. 

Merlin left his pride and joy in the care of the hangar, with no worries of the jealous or covetous taking an unhealthy interest in it. An enchantment protected it, and the controls would respond only to him. He paid the first of his rent for the space to the man in the glass booth near the hangar entrance, then inquired rather awkwardly as to the location of a place called only The House. The man's eyes about bugged out of his head at the question. 

“Lords, boy, good luck getting into there,” was all he said, along with the needed directions. 

Where the city had been both awe-inspiring if nerve-wracking from above, it was nothing but nerve-wracking on the ground – the crowds, the noise, steam-engine cars hissing and trundling fast down the streets as though with no regard as to who might be crossing them, and if people weren't shouting at you to buy this or that from their market stalls, they were bellowing at you to get out of the bloody way. Thank goodness for the steam buses was all Merlin had to say about it, nestled in the padded seats of a copper double-decked behemoth. The city was a blasted maze, liable to swallow Merlin whole wasn't careful.

It almost did when he had no choice but go the rest of the way back on foot, his destination not on the bus' route. The bus had landed him in a posh part of the city, where he stood out like a little quail in his dirty brown coat among peacocks in lacy dresses or top hats and waist coats. When Merlin asked for directions, he was answered with a sniff and a glare as though he were a simpleton.

“One more block, then to the right,” said a man with a curled mustache. “Not even _you_ could miss it if you tried.”

Merlin fought back the need to bristle, brusquely saying his thanks and moving on. Merlin was seriously starting to wonder what his mother had been thinking by sending him here. Maybe Ealdor wasn't a place for a magic-born mechanic but he wasn't sure what being in a place this big, loud and prattish would accomplish.

Then Merlin turned the corner. He found his destination. The man was right, he couldn't have missed it if he tried. The House was practically a castle, or maybe Cathedral, it was so huge, not to mention rather ancient looking - a place of stone, towers and gargoyles looking menacing even at a distance. It was surrounded by a high wall of flagstones and the entrance barred by a great iron gate like spears stacked against a rack. Merlin found himself once again having to swallow back his unease. Straightening his back, he forced himself to approach like a man who knew what they were about. 

Until the guard – big, burly, resplendent in a uniform of red and gold and armed with a musket - stepped into view and glowered at Merlin. Merlin deflated. 

“State your business or be off with you,” the guard said when Merlin was at the gate.

Merlin gulped and swiftly fished his mother's letter from his pocket. “Er, um... I'm here to see Gaius? I'm... I'm Merlin, his... um... nephew. I-I think it was told I'd be coming today...”

“Right,” the man said flatly, but pulled a small leather bound book from his pocket and consulted it. After a curt nod, he shouted for the gate to be open.

Unfortunately, that wasn't that. Merlin was immediately surrounded by two more guards. It was without warning that they patted him down and rifled through his ruck sack. Once satisfied that he posed no threat, they practically shoved him on his way. 

“East wing, second level, fifteen doors down. And don't stop until you get there,” the guard called after him. 

Merlin managed to nod and not to cringe. 

The House was much like the city, awe-inspiring and rather frightening. While the exterior stood old and important, the interior gleamed like the halls for ancient Greek gods, with marble floors, high pillars and paintings in gold frames. It was also another bloody maze. But that men and women in finery walked among men and women in dirty coveralls or pilot coats gave Merlin a modicum of courage. It was nice, no longer being looked at like something scraped off the bottom of a shoe every time he asked for directions. But it wasn't until he found the right door that he started to feel an actual sense of ease.

Then he opened that door just as an elderly man tipped back over the flimsy rail of an upper balcony. Merlin's magic reacted, slowing time then pulling a cot across the floor beneath the suspended body. Time resumed and the man landed with only an oomph. After a bit of shocked spluttering, the man finally looked at Merlin and sighed in relief.

“Thank you kindly, my boy,” he said, hefting himself up onto his feet. “People always said that bloody balcony would be the death of me, but finding space for my books can be such a nuisance and it's rare for me to ever need a book from the upper lever.” He dusted off his brown jacket and trousers, a futile attempt that only smeared more of whatever powder was currently staining them. 

“That was quick magic, I must say,” he said, still dusting away. “Especially for one so young. May I inquire as to who you studied under?”

Merlin blinked. “Oh, uh... no one.”

The man looked up sharply. “Come again?”

“I didn't study with anyone.”

“Then how did you know what to do?”

“I-I just did. It just came to me.”

“Impossible.”

“Well, what do you want me to say?”

“The truth,” the man said sternly, taking an equally stern step toward Merlin.

Merlin took a nervous step back and blurted, “I was born like this.”

“Also impossible. Who are you, what are you doing here?”

Merlin flinched. “Oh, um... here,” and thrust out his mother's letter to the man. The man – who Merlin's brain finally decided must be Gaius – opened the letter and scanned it. 

“Merlin?” Gaius said, bewildered. “But you weren't to come until Wednesday.”

“It is Wednesday.”

“Oh,” Gaius said, even more bewildered. “Well then... I suppose I should show you where you'll be staying,” he said more lightly. “This way. Do mind all the bits and bobs on the floor, some of them are fragile.” Gaius began leading the way through an obstacle course of glass, metal and little machines littering the floor. Only to pause, turn back and smile. “Although what I should be saying is thank you.”

Merlin smiled back. 

Gaius' chamber was both an inventor's dream and a maid's nightmare, books piled among odd inventions that whirred, clicked or whistled, some of which had been made to look like living things – a clockwork mouse here, a robot cat there, even a dragon about the size of a medium dog, curled up beneath the table with steam curling from its nostrils and various vents. Potions and elixirs bubbled in beakers and gurgled through pipes, with more bottles of elixirs sitting among empty plates of eaten food. Merlin was guided through all of this to a set of stairs at the back leading to a narrow door. Through the door was a tiny room with a single window, bed and table. 

“Here you are, then,” Gaius said. “You can stay here or stay until you can afford a place of your own. Your mother said you were a gifted mechanic so I arranged an interview for you with one of the chaps from The King's Hangar. They're always in need of gifted mechanics. You need a pass to come and go from The House – it's on the table by the stairs – and you'll receive another should you gain employment at the hangar. But whatever you do, do not go wandering. The grounds are fine but when inside you must be careful where you end up. Any door with the Pendragon seal you are _not_ to enter, understand?”

Merlin nodded. “Um, yeah. But... what is this place, exactly?”

Gaius gawked at him for a moment. “You don't know of The House?”

Merlin shrugged helplessly. “Should I?”

Giaus, shaking his head, chuckled softly. “No, I suppose not. Ealdor is quite a ways away. But you do know of the Order of Avalon, yes?”

Merlin smiled. “Oh Yeah. Definitely. I have a mate, Will, has the biggest collection of Order dime novels of anyone in the village. We used to stay up all night reading about the Order.”

Gaius chuckled again. “Yes, well, those are just stories, ones not even based on the real members of the Order. They don't even call its headquarters The House. They call it the Citadel or some such nonsense.”

Merlin stared at him, his brain slowly but surely making sense of Gaius' ramblings. Then, Merlin's eyes going wide, “Oh. Oh! Is this...? No. No, it couldn't... is it?”

Gaius, smiling bright, nodded, “The headquarters of the Order of Avalon.”

Merlin could feel the blood drain from his face. “Oh. Well, I suppose that explains the, um... reception at the gate.”

Gaius winced. “I do apologize for that. Security is going to be rather tight in a place such as this. But your name will be on the roster and you'll have your pass so you should be fine from now on.”

“ _Should_ be?”

“Some of the guards can be a little overzealous in their duties, but they'll get used to you soon enough. Come now, get settled and I'll give you a bit of a tour on the way to the dining hall. You must be quite hungry after your trip,” Gaius said.

Merlin was, but it had been violently subdued by the revelation that his new home was also the residence of the Order of Avalon, the protectors of the realm, a clandestine group of fighters and spies, so secret that no two characterization was ever the same in the dime novels. 

And Merlin was in their headquarters, had probably passed them in the halls. Will was going to explode when Merlin told him, if Will even believed him. 

“Merlin, are you coming?” Gaius said, his gentle voice cutting through Merlin's shock like a knife. 

Merlin flinched from his thoughts and hurried after Gaius now heading for the door. “Yeah, coming.”

The Order of Avalon. Lords, if Merlin hadn't felt like a naive country boy while he'd negotiated the city, he was certainly feeling it now.

~oOo~

Gaius was no stranger to chaos. He'd been the head physician and scholar of magic for the Order for well over twenty years, for goodness sake. His first day on the job had come with two gunshot wounds, a concussion and a magical artifact of such a dubious nature that few had been brave enough to touch it. For Gaius, chaos was not merely an acquaintance, it was a faithful companion.

And yet it still amazed him how so much chaos could find a home in one skinny, coltish young man. They had yet to leave the chamber when Merlin tripped, twice, brusing his knees and elbows (Gaius' fault, really. He was used to the clutter so had never had a mind to clean it up). Once beyond the chamber, Merlin had nervoulsy requested the use of the loo, a task that took him eighteen minutes and which involved him going through the wrong doors five times and getting hollered at four times. On finally reaching the dining hall, the boy's nerves had been so rattled that there was no possible way for Gaius to miss the way his hands shook. Then they entered the hall itself with its crystal chandeliers and tables so polished and gleaming they were like liquid, and Merlin's appetite expired right then and there. If he wasn't nibbling at the rich food half-heartedly, he was picking at it. Gaius decided that perhaps it would be best if Merlin dined in their chambers rather than the hall from now on – a practice Gaius much preferred himself, anyway. The poor boy didn't begin to relax until back in the semi-safety of the clutter.

It was while Merlin busied himself unpacking his belongings in his new room that Gaius sat himself at his desk and read, word for word, Hunith's letter. It told both an amazing and heartbreaking tale of a boy who could move objects with a flash of gold in his eyes before he could even walk and talk; of a boy who posessed more magical skill and power at the age of five than the novice apprentices who studied under elder sorcerers; and of a boy frowned upon, even shunned, by most in his village for being “unnatural.”

Except it wasn't unnatural, not to one who had made understanding magic a part of his life – in part to aid Gaius in the healing of others, and also in part as a result of his youthful days in which magic had been too much of a grand fascination to pass up. To call Merlin unnatural was narrow-minded and cruel, but not even Gaius could deny that Merlin was unique. Not so unique that there wasn't a term for what he was, but from what Gaius knew of warlocks, the ones who _were_ magic, not merely born with the potential for it, they did not come into this world on a whim. Warlocks had a purpose, which meant Merlin had a purpose.

Hunith, however – from what Gaius ascertained from her letter – did not care for purposes. All she wanted was a place where her son would feel accepted, for someone to guide him, to help him understand the gift he did not choose to have, and to offer him more than what a tiny narrow-minded village on the edge of the realm could offer. 

It was such a simple request, but it didn't feel simple, not when all evidence pointed to the life of a warlock being anything but uneventful. There had been three that Gaius knew of recorded in the annals of history, the last known warlock spoken of over a thousand years ago. Most thought them myths these days, a child's fairytale of heroes who vanquished great evil and kept the world safe. The last warlock had defeated a great army of the undead or some such. 

A clatter, a bang and a yelp pulled Gaius' attention to the top of the small stairs and the closed wooden door. It had only been a few hours since Merlin's arrival and already Gaius could easily picture the boy bumbling about the room as he tried to put things away. He chuckled to himself.

The image of that same boy, standing thin, nervous and tripping over his own feet before an army of corpses, killed the laugh. 

Lords, Merlin hadn't been here for a day and already Gaius had to wonder what he was getting himself into. 

TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

Merlin could have sworn he'd just died without knowing it and gone to mechanic's heaven. He had already assumed that the piddly little shops where he had apprenticed (when he could apprentice, when a mechanic didn't turn him away thanks to village prejudices) would be holes in the ground compared to what the city had to offer. But even the hangar where he had initially parked his flying machine was a _shed_ comparted to the shining crystal beauty that was the King's Hangar. 

The King's Hangar was _massive_ , as in beyond measure, capable of housing four derrigibles with plenty of room for single wing and bi-wing flyers to park. It's crowning occupent was a long, sleek derrigible the colors of copper, red and gold and Christened the King's Chariot. It was a government derrigible, it was said, reserved for his Lordship Uther, but rumor put it as the favored transport of the Order. 

The chamber echoed with the throaty roar of engines, the whine of drills, it wreaked of oil and chemicals and Merlin loved it. 

And now he would get to work here. 

It had been a bit of a close call, the Hangar Master Mr. Monmouth a rather difficult to please gentlemen not easily impressed by the resume of a former aprpentice – nephew to Gaius or not. Then Mr. Monmouth had asked for an example of his skills, granting Merlin permission to bring whatever he had worked on in the course of his life (if he'd brought anything, that is) to the hangar to house. Merlin had complied and the moment Monmouth had set eyes on The Gold Dragon... well, Merlin couldn't say it was love at first sight. More like suspicion at first sight. Merlin had had to give Mr. Monmouth access to just about every inch of the machine, and it wasn't until the Hangar Master had confirmed that the machine was no mere alteration, _then_ Merlin was hired on the spot. 

The Gold Dragon was allowed to remain in the hangar – for a small fee, that is, but a cheaper fee at least. 

For the first time in what felt like... ever, to be honest, Merlin felt content. Granted the lads enjoyed ribbing him by giving him the dirtiest jobs possible, but that's all it was – ribbing, initiating the new chap into their rather large circle by showing him his place, not because he was some freak of magic that shouldn't exist. Helping to change the oil in the derrigibles was a bloody picnic compared to being shoved without mercy into whatever metal surface happened to have the most bits and pieces jutting from them. When the day was done, Merlin returned to his new home exhausted, bruise-free and riding high on a feeling of accomplishment.

Merlin's fifth day of work and the lads had finally released him from the minor annoyance that was hazing and assigned him to assist in the upkeep of the fighter flyers. It still involved changing oil, but a lesser evil compared to the bloated whales hovering overhead. Merlin finished filling a copper flyer with oil and screwed the stopper back into place. 

One thing Merlin couldn't quite get used to were those noises that managed to surpass the constant cacophony that was a permanent in the hangar; those sounds that were so abrupt and so much louder they were like a horribly tuned instrument, grating and terrible. A crash and clatter erupting directly behind Merlin nearly had him jumping from his skin. 

“What the hell is wrong with you!” The irate voice was even louder than the crash, and Merlin whirled around, heart in his throat that the reprimand had been directed at him.

It wasn't. A young mechanic had lost hold of a box full of gears and pipes, right at the feet of a well-dressed blond man who's mere presence oozed self-righteous bombasity. He and his small entorage of uniformed men glared at the mechanic as though he had just spit on them.

“And here I thought this hangar hired only the best,” the man sneered. “Go on, then. Pick it up.”

The mechanic tried, but just as he was reaching for a gear, the blond man kicked it away with a flick of his foot. The man smiled, smug and triumphant, and the uniformed men chuckled. The other mechanics went back to their work, studiously ignoring the situation.

Merlin bristled. He'd been on the wrong end of such taunts, of too many bastards snatching his tool from his hand, tossing it away and holding him back as they bellowed at him him to just fetch the damn thing with his magic, already. Only to call him a freak and give him a good shove for it, after. 

All that magic in the palm of his hand, and Merlin had still been at the mercy of bullies, because retaliation meant imprisonment no matter how harmless the spell.

“That's enough, friend,” Merlin said politely with an equally polite smile, because he also knew the merits of being the better man, few as those merits had been. 

The blond man looked up at him, brow furrowed. “Do I know you?”

Merlin pursed his lips and shrugged. “No.”

“And yet you called me friend.”

“You're right, my mistake.”

“Yes, I think so,” the blond said, still smiling that triumphant smile like grit chafing Merlin's nerves.

“Because I wouldn't be friends with such an _ass_.”

There was no merit to taking the low road – Merlin knew that as well. But it certainly felt bloody good. The blond's smile vanished, overtaken by a scowling frown. 

“Do you know who you're addressing?” he said, taking a menacing step forward. 

“Yeah. I just said. An _ass_.”

Suddenly the blond was on him, grabbing Merlin's arm and yanking it high up his back until pain ripped through him. But this, too, Merlin was used to, and with only a thought and a flash of gold eyes a puddle of oil trickled its way quickly to pool around the blond's feet. The man shifted, adjusting his stance, and immediately lost his balance, releasing Merlin in order to flail. Merlin scurried out of reach just as the man recaptured his balance by grabbing the fin of a flyer. 

“Slippery little...” the man snarled. He advanced, fist clenched. Merlin back peddled and magicked a bucket right under the man's feet. The man staggered and Merlin took the opportunity to turn and run. He didn't get far when he was suddenly grabbed by the collar and slammed roughly into the body of a flyer.

“You do know I can take you apart with one blow,” the man said coolly.

“Yeah? I can take you apart with less than that,” Merlin said, just as cool. The man readied his fist. Merlin readied his spell.

“What is the meaning of this?”

Suddenly, Merlin was released as though he had bitten the blond. The blond straightened, smoothed out his clothes then clasped his hands behind his back. 

A new entorage had arrived, men in fine clothes or the uniforms of soldiers, and leading the procession was a man even Merlin knew well enough to recognize, having seen his face enough times in the papers.

Uther, Lord Regent of the entire realm.

And he did not look happy.

“Arthur,” Lord Uther said flatly.

The man, Arthur, cleared his throat. “Father.”

Merlin's eyes popped wide. Father. Lord Uther's son. Heir to the Regency of the land. 

The man Merlin had been about to knock on his arse with magic.

“Is there... an issue?” Uther said in a tone that stated clearly that the answer had better be _no_.

Arthur cleared his throat, the only sign of unease he seemed unable to hide. “Of course not, father. Merely a misunderstanding.”

Uther's penetrating gaze landed on Merlin, and it was all Merlin could do not to shrink back. Uther said nothing. He narrowed his eyes, then turned and moved on. Arthur eventually followed after but not before glancing back wearing an expression that promised this wasn't over. 

Merlin swallowed thickly.

Someone clucked their tongue. “Lords, Merlin, I can't tell if you've got guts or an empty head. That was the bloody regent who tried to pound you.”

Merlin gave Percival a hepless look. “I didn't know!”

Percival lifted his large hand. “You know now. You'd best keep an eye out. Arthur's not one to forget a grudge and Lord Uther does like surprise inspections.”

Merlin groaned and turned to head to the next flyer on the list for an oil change. Lords, it was just like being an apprentice all over again, bullies popping up no matter where he worked. He was normally quite adept at avoiding trouble – at least he liked to think so even if his mum had begged to differ – but there were days when being the better man seemed a Hurculean task that bordered on the impossible, days when he wanted to lash out merely to prove that he could, that he wasn't a coward or a weakling, that he did know how to fight back even if he was terrible at it. 

Sometimes he just couldn't help himself. But, he supposed, at least there was consolation in the fact that he had only himself to blame this time and not his magic. Being nearly punched in the face for mouthing off was a far cry from being punched simply because he had summoned a tossed tool to him with magic. It said he was hated for being mouthy, not for something he couldn't help being. 

Merlin almost laughed that he felt proud about it. He resumed his task of changing the oil almost happily. Lords, he was pathetic, sometimes. 

“Merlin!” someone called. “Merlin, you're needed this minute.”

Merlin turned to see Lionel, the foreman of the flyers, waving him on to hurry it up. Merlin trotted after him, weaving through the rows of fighter flyers and the smaller messanger flyers until they were at the far side of the hangar where anyone with a personal flyer could keep theirs housed. Merlin's heart raced. Word spread fast in the hangar, and even with Arthur having had the upper hand most of the time and Lord Uther having seemed mostly unperturbed, that didn't mean the scrap wasn't going to go unpunished. Which Merlin should have thought of, but he was used to his little fights always being overlooked by the higher-ups who never had enough patience or inclination to deal with minor squabbles. 

When they arrived at The Gold Dragon, Merlin's heart-rate shot to the moon. This was it, he was getting sacked, and all because some golden-haired prat of a regent had to go and be an arse. His heart nearly stopped altogether when he saw Lord Uther and his entorage studying the machine, pointing at various parts of it like scholars in a museum. 

“Lord Uther,” Lionel called. “Here's the one you want.”

Uther turned. His eyes narrowed. Merlin was certain his heart really had stopped.

“You?” Uther said. “You built this machine?”

Merlin nodded, then remembering etiquette, cleared his throat and replied hoarsely, “Um... yes, your lordship.”

“All by yourself?”

“No,” Merlin said. “A friend helped. And the blacksmiths did the body. But... yeah, it is mostly my work.”

Uther stared at him as though his eyes really could penetrate flesh and blood all the way to the soul, pulling out your deepests secrets. Then he chuckled.

“Well, this is interesting. And to think, Arthur, you were about to drive your fist through this poor boy's skull.”

Arthur frowned but otherwise didn't so much as twitch a facial muscle.

“What is your name, boy?” Uther asked.

Merlin swallowed. “Um... Merlin, your lordship.”

“Merlin. Like the hawk.” Uther nodded. “Most appropriate. How long did it take you to constuct this marvelous piece.”

“I started when I was a boy, your lorship.”

“Years, then,” Uther said. He looked back up at the Dragon. “Remarkable. Come, you must show me how well it works. It may look pretty on the outside but it means nothing if the inner workings do not shine as equally.”

Merlin bowed shakily. “Yes, my lord.” He quickly clamoured inside his flyer. Everyone backed away while he worked the levers and switches in the coded order that would wake the machine without need of a key or single switch. The Dragon's steam hissed and the hydraulics whined as the machine rose onto its feet. It moved like water with barely a jolt as Merlin brought it from the hangar onto the runway to gleam in the sun. He pulled a lever and the wings unfolded. Then he gripped the two ornate handles in the midst of all the levers and switches, and poured his magic and mind into his creation. 

The Dragon began to walk, then trot, then run, steam and heat propelling it forward up to speeds that caught the wind beneath the wings and lifted it. The sky raced toward Merlin through the view window as the flyer rose swift as a bird. With only a thought, the machine banked, coming around smoothly for an equally smooth landing. 

When Merlin climbed from the cockpit, it was to applause. Heat flooded up his neck and pooled in his cheeks.

“Wonderful, just wonderful,” Uther greeted him after Merlin had climbed down the neck and jumped from the body. 

“Such talent, my lord,” one of the well-dressed men said.

“Indeed,” said Uther. “And it would be a shame to waste such talent by keeping such a find in the repairs department.” He clapsed Merlin's shoulder beneath his heavy coat. “How would you like a new position? Skills such as yours would be more useful in the air. In one of the derrigibles, perhaps? No, even better. The King's Chariot itself.”

“What?” Merlin squeaked.

“What!” Arthur yelped.

“It is a complicated machine, I will admit, but nothing one with your abilities won't be able to handle quite well, I think.”

Merlin gaped, his brain taking its too-sweet time processing Uther's words.

The King's Chariot. The pride and joy of Camelot's airborne vessels. Rumored to be the vessel of the Order.

And Merlin was being asked to work on it.

If Merlin's heart hadn't stopped before, it had stopped now, and the lack of blood had short circuited his brain. He could form no words. Then he saw Arthur out of the corner of his eye.

He was livid. Murderously so. Merlin's jaw snapped shut with a click.

He was a dead man.

TBC...


	3. Chapter 3

Arthur burst into the common room, and had his anger been a hurricane it would have torn books from the shelves and toppled furniture to the floor. Since it wasn't, all it accomplished was getting Morgana to look up from the book she was reading and simper with annoyance.

“Oh, bad day, Arthur?”

“Don't start with me, Morgana, you won't like the result,” Arthur growled. He leaned with his elbow up against the fireplace mantle and aimed his glare at the gentle flames.

“Actually, you might recall that there has yet to be a time when I ever regreted your tirades.” Morgana sighed dramatically. “So what is it Uther did this time? Knowing you you'll want to get it all out, anyway, so we might as well get it over with.”

Arthur's scowl deepened, narrowing like a pin-point of light on the innocent fire since it would do no good to aim it at Morgana. It wasn't so much her attitude as it was that she was right; he was going to tell her, because as obnoxious as it was they would always be united in the frustration that was their father.

Arthur pushed away from the mantle to pace and tossed up his hands. “He had the audacity to hire a cheeky, irreverent git as a mechanic on the Chariot. I mean the boy has no bloody respect what so ever, but rather than punishing the idiot father promotes him simply because he happens to be handy with a flyer. I swear father did it just to punish me.”

“Why? What did you do?” Morgana asked. 

This time, Arthur did pin his glare on her. “Nothing.”

Morgana looked up from her book, eyebrow raised. Arthur gave his hands another toss.

“Nothing! I put a bumbling fool in his place, that was all. It would have been two bumbling fools if father hadn't gone and _hired_ the other one.”

“Uther having little consideration for your pride. Yes, the horror indeed,” Morgana said dryly. Arthur narrowed his eyes, but Morgana had gone back to her reading. 

“What are you even doing here?” Arthur asked. He stomped over to the richly cushioned chair adjacent to Morgana's and dropped himself into it. “Shouldn't you still be across the northern border causing unrest among the enemy?”

Morgana scoffed. “You mean those malcontents of Lot's harrying our border patrol? Please, I had them turning on each other the moment I got them to recruit me. Lot's men are even less intelligent than he is.”

“So where does father plan to send you next?”

“Infiltrating balls and masquarades in the hopes of finding Lord Cenred, as usual,” Morgana said. “With Lot busy having to deal with infighting I'll get a reprieve this month. I have missed the parties, and Lady Vivien does throw the best, even if she does have the brain of a parrot.”

The door suddenly burst inward, the bluster sauntering through the complete opposite of Arthur's. Gwaine was twirling his black-lacquered cane, smiling a smile that was begging to be wiped off his face. Arthur silently groaned. Nothing said “whatever you do, do not ask about Gwaine's day” like that smile. 

“Guess what happened to me!”

But, then, Gwaine had never been one to wait for an invitation to say _anything_.

“Why do I get the feeling that I don't want to know?” Arthur grumbled.

“Gotten your knickers in a twist again, princess?” Gwaine said jauntily. He went to the fire and leaned against the mantle much like Arthur had, only gracing his audience with that stupid grin. 

“So there I was, taking my leisurely constitutional and pondering a pint down at The Rising Sun Pub when, low and behold, I hear a scream. A woman's scream, mind, and far be it from me to leave a lady in distress.”

“Yes, because we're such utterly helpless creatures,” Morgana muttered, both dry and dark.

Gwaine ignored her. “So I dash around a corner into an alley to see poor Miss Annie being cornered by this _brute_ demanding her purse or else. Well, we couldn't be having that, even if the bastard was built like a brick house. Just as tall, too. But size?” Gwaine snorted. “Size; when has that ever meant anything? I had that scoundrel on the ground before he even knew I was there. And Miss Annie...” His grin became even more impertinent, if that were possible. “Well, needless to say, she was grateful. _Very_ grateful.”

Morgana's face twisted in disgust. “Lords, you're a pig.”

“Hey, I was nothing but a gentleman,” Gwaine said, hands raised innocently. “Honest. Walked her safely home and left her with her virture intact.” He shifted, defalting slightly. “Mostly because her father was home but she _has_ agreed to meet me later.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Gwaine, you're a cad.”

“Don't forget pig,” Morgana said.

Gwaine responded with his cheekiest grin. That was the problem with Gwaine – once he was on cloud nine there was no bringing him down. The man bloody floated through life. 

“Did I ever tell you of the time at the Rising Sun when one of the barmaids...” But before Gwaine could regale them with yet another exploit they had probably already heard a thousand times, the door swung open. 

Lancelot hurried in, bringing his own silent hurricane. Unlike Arthur, he wasn't angry, but unlike Gwaine he was far from happy. If anything, it seemed like he wasn't sure how to react, and so was caught somewhere between frightened and focused. Morgana closed her book, Arthur sat up and Gwaine dropped his smile.

Lancelot, breathless, inhaled deeply. “Gwen's back,” he said.

They hurried from the parlor as one.

~oOo~

The council room was a cold place of white marble veined in silver and smooth pillars that supported a vaulted ceiling. Being inside of it was not unlike being in a chapel, the atmosphere hushed, the mood somber and serious. The only furnishings were a long, heavy oak table with high-backed chairs, eight on one side, eight on the other and two at the end. 

Everyone was gathered, Arthur, Gwaine, Lancelot, Morgana, Gaius, Leon the captain of the guard and Elyan the chief mechanic and pilot of the Chariot. Uther sat at the head of the table, and Gwen at the other end. She looked travel-worn, worried, but no less beautiful in Arthur's opinion. She had a rather thick folder of papers before her, the thickest folder yet, and that alone was worrying. Gwen was the best spy among them, her quiet and polite nature endearing her quickly to those she associated with and making her easy to underestimate. She held the record for gathering the most intel, but this folder by far outdid everything she had gathered yet.

“I apologize, Lord Uther, that I have returned so soon but what I have discovered is of the utmost importance,” Gwen began. She opened the file and began sorting through the papers nervously as she spoke, fumbling with some of the sheets. “As we know, there has been rumor of the sorceress Morguase having become active again, and that Cenred may have been attempting to form an alliance with her.”

Uther nodded gravely. “Rumors we have yet to obtain any proof of.”

Cenred, disgraced regent of the western lands, had been a thorn in the side of Camelot long before his father had disowned him. The man was cunning as a snake but ambition was his weakness, and he was anxious to rule and eager to prove himself because of it. The two kingdoms had existed on an uneasy truce, one Cenred had nearly demolished in his attempt to weaken Camelot by denying it of it's future regent – Arthur. But the attempt had been a failure, Arthur injured but alive, and in order to prevent war, King Arctus had banished his son. 

Which, of course, Cenred hadn't been happy about. It was an unhappiness he continued to take out on Camelot to this day. And although he might have been disowned, the man hadn't exactly been left penniless, and he knew how to get into the good gracesof those willing to fund his efforts. He had nearly brought the city to its knees with a fleet of derrigibles funded by king Alined, and if he wasn't using fleets one moment he was paying off thugs and ruffians to sabotage what they could the next. The last anyone had heard of him after his latest defeat when he tried to assasinate both Uther and Arthur, he had been trying to gain favor with various sorcerers. 

Gwen took a breath and let it out sharply. “We now have proof. It was while I was aiding Lady Mithian in tracking down word of Cenred's last known location. I was working alongside both Mithian's spies and Annis' Shadow Men. Several of us managed to infiltrate a few of Cenred's recruitment attempts and as a result we managed to bring in several of his people for questioning. They held nothing back, boasting of Cenred's alliance not only with Morgause but the sorcerer known as Trickler.”

Grim glances were exchanged. While Cenred was an annoyance – albeit a dangerous one – Morgause was a nightmare. She was a high preistess of the old magic, and also a devout disciple of the belief that magic was a slave to all those without magic, and that it was meant to rule, not be used as a tool. 

Trickler was... well, he _had been_ a joke back in those days when he had worked for king Alined. But he was also a madman, and you could never say what a madman was capable of. If he was working with Morgause, then that meant he was no longer Alined's lackey, and no longer being a lackey meant there was no one to put the fear of the old gods into him except an equally insane sorceress. 

This said nothing good.

“A most unusual alliance,” Gaius said. “Especially knowing that Morgause has no paitence for those not of magic.”

“But Cenred has what Morgause doesn't,” Arthur said thoughtfully. “Connections, money, influence.”

“Yeah, but when has Morgause ever needed any of that?” said Gwaine. “She's always been more the blast-her-way-through-with-magic type, if you recall.”

Gwen nodded. “Agreed. It made little sense until we discovered why the alliance was formed. Morgause is searching for something, something that is said to be near-impossible to find.” She sent the papers down the row of people. “Something known only as the Emrys.”

Gaius' head shot up, his eyebrows raising. “The Emrys?”

“You know of it, Gaius?” Uther stated.

Gaius nodded once. “It is... well, to be honest, it is something very powerful and that's all I really know. I do know that the wandering Druid camps still speak of it. Specifically how it will help to unite all the lands and bring about a time of peace known as the Age of Albion. Scholars and adventurers have searched for it for centuries and still it remains a mystery.”

Gwen gnawed on her lip nervously. “Not for long, I'm afraid. It seems Morgause has found something. Something that will point the way to the Emrys, or divulge what it is. We're not sure which, but we know it's why she has joined with Cenred. He hasn't merely been recruiting ruffians, he has also been recuiting pilots and mechanics. They are preparing an expedition.”

Uther leaned forward urgently. “Do you know where this expedition plans to meet?”

“I'm afraid not,” Gwen said. Then she smiled. “But we do know when they plan to depart, and we may know where they are going. As you know, Annis' Shadowmen are skilled in the art of serums, most especially truth serums. We managed to get a name – Valley of the Fallen Kings.”

Gaius frowned thoughtfully. “Yes, I know of it. It's to the north well beyond anyone's realm. It is believed to be the location of a great kingdom – a hidden kingdom. I will have to do a bit more research on the matter but I know enough that it shouldn't take long.”

“Good,” Uther said. “Then in the meantime we can prepare to depart. If we can't stop Cenred and Morgause in their tracks, then perhaps we can locate this Emrys before they do.”

Uther dismised them to go and prepare. Arthur waited until everyone had departed and it was only he and Uther.

“I don't like this,” Arthur said the moment the door had boomed shut.

“I can't see anything about this situation to like,” Uther said, gathering his papers into his valise. 

“No, I mean the amount of intelligence we've managed to gather. Gwen is good – very good – at what she does but when it comes to both Cenred and Morgause we never discover this much about their plans until the moment they execute them. They may be overconfident but they're not fools.”

Uther studied Arthur shrewdly. “What are you suggesting?”

“I don't know,” Arthur said, shrugging. “A situation like this, what they're seeking... it's not a plan we should have discovered so easily. What if they wanted us to find out? What if all this is a ploy to lure us out? What if it's a trap?”

Uther leaned back in his chair, folding his hands across his stomach as he mulled over Arthur's words. “And what if they find this Emrys and it's more of a danger than we can imagine?”

“Father--”

Uther held up his hand. “No, you're right to feel cautious. I understand your reservations but neither can we stand by and merely hope that they are unable to locate this Emrys.” He fell momentarily silent and thoughtful. “We should proceed slowly. Loathe as I am to say it we may have to allow them to make the first move. If you cannot overtake them or reach this location first you may need to refrain from taking action but, instead, observe.”

“And if it's not just a clue as to the Emrys' where abouts? If it's the Emrys itself?” Arthur asked. 

Uther frowned. “Then you take it. If you can't, then you destroy it.”

TBC...


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh, so, my bad, turns out I needed to have the entire story posted for the Big Bang *slaps forehead*. So the story will now be completely posted. But it's a long one so take your time with it.

Merlin was sore, which he shouldn't be, not when all he had done was change oil mostof the day. But that the soreness seemed to be localized on his shoulderblades told him it had less to do with a hard day's work and more to do with being slammed into a flyer. And here he thought he had escaped such things after leaving Ealdor.

He entered the physician's chamber to find it empty and as quiet as it could get, not counting all the ticking and clicking and steam hissing. The mechanical dragon ambled up to him and bumped its head into Merlin's leg until Merlin gave it a pat. Unlike the other clockworks, the little dragon had been infused with magic – an experiment, no doubt. Merlin had already figured Gaius a dabbler in sorcery from all his books. It had brought to Merlin an extra sense of peace knowing that he was in the company of a fellow magic mechanic. 

Speaking of which...

“Gaius?” Merlin called. No answer. Good. Merlin was sure he was bruised and the last thing he needed was for Gaius to see it and ask questions. He went to his closet of a room, shed himself of his heavy coat and oil-stained shirt, then filled the chipped cermaic basin with water from an equally chipped pitcher. There was a small mirror nailed to the wall over the small stand holding his washing supplies, and Merlin turned, angling himself to see as much of his back as he could. He grimaced. 

Both shoulder blades were bruised, as was the space in between. That clotpole Arthur certainly hadn't held back, which made Merlin suddenly glad things hadn't escalated to fisticuffs. Merlin could be quick with his magic but a punch to the face had a tendancy to knock his ability to use magic right out of his skull. It was hard to know where to aim a spell when there seemed to be two assailants fading in and out of each other. 

Merlin turned his back away from the mirror and proceeded to wash. 

“Merlin, are you here? I need to-- what on earth happened to your back!”

Merlin froze, stiffened, then whirled around and stared at Gaius like a deer in the headlamps of a steam truck.

“Nothing,” Merlin squeaked.

“Nothing my eye. Turn around, let me see.” Gaius didn't wait for Merlin to comply. He marched up to him and turned him around by the shoulders, then proceeded to poke and prod, making Merlin hiss from the pain.

“Not too bad but they are rather nasty looking,” Gaius said. “What happened? Was it an accident?”

“No. I mean, yes, it was an accident.”

Merlin was turned around a second time, coming face to face with Gaius' ire. 

“Merlin,” he said, calm. Too calm, and it made Merlin want to shrink back.

He smiled instead, what he hoped was something innocent but felt forced. “Gaius?”

“What happened?”

“Nothing, I just...”

“Did you get into a fight?”

“Yes, no! I mean, no. I – it wasn't – It was nothing I couldn't handle.”

Gaius sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Was it because of your magic?”

“No! No, of course not. No one saw me use it--”

“You used your magic!”

Merlin flinched back into the table, causing both bowl and pitcher to clatter. “Gaius, I mean it, it was nothing. This prat was giving this mechanic grief, I told him to stop and, yes, there was a bit of a row but nothing that got bad when Lord Uther stepped in--”

“Lord Uther saw you fighting!”

This time, Merlin winced. Lords, it was near impossible to think with Gaius jumping down his throat every ten seconds. 

“Gaius, I mean it, it was nothing. Lord Uther didn't seem to care. In fact, he gave me a job.”

At this, Gaius blinked in surprise, the ire drainingn right out of him. “He did?”

Merlin nodded vigorously. “He saw my flyer, had me run it and everything and liked it so much he said he wanted me for The King's Chariot.” 

“Oh,” Gaius said, bewildered. “I... see. Well, then... who was it that was causing such grief? It might be wise to report them to prevent further issues.”

Merlin could feel the blood drain from his face, his dread more obvious than Merlin realized when Gaius' eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Merlin. Who did you get in a row with?”

“No one important--”

“Merlin!” Gaius snapped.

And Merlin yelped, “Uther's son!”

Silence descended on them like an avalanche, what may have been seconds lasting a span of forever, until Gaius finally tossed up his hands.

“Unbelievable. You never cease to amaze me!”

“I'm sorry, Gaius,” Merlin said frantically, finally giving in to that need to shrink away. “Honest, I didn't even know who he was. I just saw him getting mad at a mechanic for an accident and told him to stop, that was all. I didn't mean for it to, you know, escalate like that.”

Gaius huffed. Then he chuckled lightly, shaking his head. “And yet instead of locking you in the prison, Uther promotes you. Either the gods truly do show mercy on fools or luck has a soft spot for you. Come on, have a seat. Let me treat the bruises.”

Merlin did as told, leaning forward on his knees, while Gaius fetched the needed remedy for battered shoulder blades. He returned with a salve and a cloth and settled himself next to Merlin.

“So how, exactly, did you use magic against the son of the Regent?” 

Merlin shrugged, wincing when it pulled on the bruises. “Nothing much. Just enough to keep Arthur from caving my face in. Moved a bucket here, rope there...” he shivered when he felt the cold salve touch his skin. 

“You're three times as lucky, then,” Gaius said, dabbing Merlin's back gently with the rag. “Magic may not be outlawed like in some realms but when it comes to the Pendragons you will never know a more mistrusted art. To use it on Arthur, even if it was to move buckets and ropes to keep him from hitting you, would have landed you in the deepest, darkest jail cell, possibly never to come out. You'd do best not to use magic at all.”

Merlin immediately stiffened. 

_You'd better not use magic at all_. That was what his mum had always said, and Will, and Mr. Gladstone, the only mechanic who hadn't treated Merlin like a bomb about to go off. Because for them, if it caused so much trouble, so much grief, then why use it at all?

Why have it?

“Then why have it?” Merlin said out loud. “What's the point of having a power I'm born with if all I can do with it is lock it away? What's the bloody point of me?” He looked at Gaius hoping, pleading. “Am I just a monster?”

Gaius stared at him appalled as though he had just confessed to committing murder. “Merlin!”

“Gaius, I mean it. Why am I like this? Please, tell me. There has to be a reason.”

Gaius lowered his hands, his expression going soft, even sad. “I am sorry, Merlin. I wish I had the wisdom to be able to tell you. But you are a question that had never been asked, and I'm afraid even my knowledge is limited in such matters. But... perhaps there is someone with more knowledge than I.”

Merlin's heart beat fast. “Who? Do you know someone?” But the apologetic look on Gaius' face made it sink to his stomach.

“Not personally,” Gaius said. He rested his hand on Merlin's bare shoulder. “Listen, my boy. If there is a reason for your gift, it will be discovered in time. You are not a monster and I never want to hear you say such things again, all right?”

Merlin nodded.

“Good,” Gaius said. He handed Merlin a bottle. “Then drink this and finish cleaning up. We have much packing to do.”

“We do?” Merlin said.

Gaius patted him on the shoulder, smiling. “It seems your new employment has come at a most interesting time. The Order is about to be dispatched on its latest mission. We're going on a journey.”

That said, Gaius left Merlin to begin preparations.

Merlin sat there, staring with dread at the wall. 

“Stuck for an inordinate amount of time in the same dirrigible with the dollophead.” He tossed back the elixir, his grimace afterward only part to do with the foul taste. “Lovely.”

~oOo~

The King's Chariot surprassed brilliance. It was streamline, built for comfort as well as speed, and all without sacrificing artistic integrity. In other words, it was just as pretty to look at on the outside as it was on the inside. 

It was divided into three levels – the bottom for the flyers, luggage, supplies and so on, the second level the guts of the machine – engine, pipes and a maze of halls and walkways to get to it all. The third level were the living quarters for the entire crew and the passengers, plus the helm, of course. It was all incredibly posh, like a fancy hotel or a passenger ship – neither of which Merlin had experienced first hand but he had seen pictures of them in magazines. Granted, there were no fancy chandeliers but there was soft red carpet, a lounge, a small dining room and even a parlor with a billiard table and bar. On the downside, it was reserved for the passengers. On the upside, you could at least eat in the dining room from time to time if you cleaned yourself up and had something nice to wear. The cooks were bloody dictators when it came to the dining area, said Percival who had given Merlin the grand tour, and they could be quite vicious with anyone who so much as poked their grimy, oil-caked head in. 

Merlin was to share a bunk with Percival as well as a bloke named Kay and another named John. They were nice bunks, not carpted and fancy like the passenger rooms but roomy and the beds comfortable – at least according to Perc, who had worked on his fair share of derrigibles dating back to when he was twelve. Percival was also incredibly honest, so Merlin had no trouble taking his word for it. 

It took about a day to get the Chariot ready for departure – being mostly ready on a daily bases with only a few loose ends to tie up (like getting fresh food supplies). The expedition then set off the very next day during those early hours well before the sun had yet to turn the sky gray. It was mandetory for the crew to sleep on the ship before departure, and Merlin woke to the throbbing vibration of the engine that seemed to have taken up residence behind his breast bone – something that would take time to get used to according to Percival. 

Merlin slid from his top bunk to the cool metal floor, the room a mess of shadows in the pre-dawn twilight. He peered out the round window and watched in wonder as the derrigible eased from the King's Hangar onto the airfield, then rose gently into a sky still flecked with a few distant stars. He could see the city stretched out below him like a toy glowing a soft gold from the streetlamps and windows of those waking. And no longer being the one having to navigate that city in the air, Merlin could finally appreciate its beauty. 

Somewhere within the ship, a whistle sounded much like the one announcing the shift change at the hangar, only far less ear-shattering. Merlin was dressed and ready for breakfast at the same time his bunk mates were finally easing their lazy bulks off their beds. 

“Gah, Merlin, don't tell me you're one of those obnoxious early morning types,” Percival groaned. 

Merlin, halfway out the door, turned to grace him with a cheeky grin. “Sorry, Perc. Too excited for a lay in, today.”

Percival snorted. “Yeah. Give it a day and I'll guarantee you'll start hating the sunrise. And go to the cantina, not the dining room!” he called as Merlin darted off.

The cantina was where the crew was technically supposed to dine, and where they mostly did dine depending on when their shifts started. It was a large, bare chamber of a place where the food was prepared with effeciancy rather than taste, and people shoveled it into their mouths because they had to more than wanted to. Still, it was far superior fare compared to what Merlin had experienced during is apprenticeship days. 

With breakfast out of the way, it was time to work. It consisted mostly of assissting Percival and would until Merlin finally got the hang of how everything functioned. There were gauges, gas pressure and the gas bladders that needed checking, a few bolts that needed tightening, some oil that needed changing (and, lords, would Merlin ever escape that?), and gears that needed greasing. Percival was needed on the deck at one point – one of the compasses was going wonky – and Merlin got to see first hand the bridge with its crew in place. It seemed quite the relaxed affair – the crew at their stations giving readings and the captain, Mr. Elyan, and his first and second mate pouring over maps and charts.

It was the massive window Merlin was most interested in. The sun was high in the sky, and looking out at the expanse made Merlin feel as though they were gliding through blue pastures full of fat clouds like lazy sheep. It was so beautiful, so peaceful. Merlin could have stared at it forever.

The rest of the shift was spent checking things, again. It was about being at the ready, Percival said, should things go wrong, so there would be times you wouldn't be doing much at all depending on who got to what, first. 

And when not doing mechanical work... lords, it was like being at home – sweeping this, mopping that, putting laundry in the automated washing tubs then folding the loads that had dried. Busy work, Merlin called it, even if it did have its purpose. And Merlin, being the new man, he was going to have to get used to it. 

Except that, sometimes, it meant _not_ being where his guide was. It was a big bloody ship, and though there were maps located at regular intervals, it wasn't much help when someone rushing by on their way to attend to their own duties asked things like “think you could mop out the wet room or the big storage cupboard or the stoat hole there's a good chap thanks a bunch” and never bothering to explain what a “stoat hole” was (actually, Merlin had thought he was being insulted). That was the problem with mechinics, they did love their nicknames. Merlin used to have a name for each of the places he apprenticed - nothing he could tell his mother about without blushing furiously, though. 

The crew was also less than helpful when it came to pointing these locations out. Oh, it's just past the old steam room or that room not yet scraped of its rust. Up, down, left, right, past this weird room with this weird name and did it ever get Merlin anywhere? No. It was his third day of this, and he was quite sure the men he'd questioned had been pulling his leg when he found himself on the upper level in the passenger section. He must have looked as lost as he was, when a long-haired gentlemen whistling a jaunty tune as he strutted down the hall took one look at him and chuffed.

“You lost, mate?” he asked.

Merlin was only able to answer with a rather bewildered, “Um...” when the man chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder, paying no mind to his filthy coat.

“You must be new. Only the new ones look that helpless. What's you're name?”

“Um... Merlin?”

The man gaped at him. “No.”

“Uh, yes, actually?” Merlin said, becoming twice as uneasy.

“You're jesting with me.”

“Not... really,” Merlin said, his unease now creeping toward awkward.

The man burst out laughing, causing Merlin to flinch.

“Oh, this is brilliant, just brilliant! I've been dying to meet you, mate. Come on.” The man tossed his arm around Merlin's shoulders. “I owe you a bloody drink.” He began steering Merlin down the hall, even plucked his broom from his hand and tossed it aside.

“You do?” Merlin said dumbly. “Do – do I know you?”

“Nope! Sorry. You can call me Gwaine.”

“Oh. So... er... how do you know me?”

At this, Gwaine stopped, turning Merlin to face him with both hands on his shoulders. “Merlin, mate, the first thing you need to know when it comes to old Gwaine is that he's a man who knows how to listen. He's the man with connections. The man who hears all, sees all, and makes it his business to learn whatever he deems to be to his advantage. Don't let the fine clothes fool you. I may have style but that's never been an issue with the boys at the hangar.”

Merlin blinked twice. “O – kay?”

“And what the boys down at the hangar told me was the most brilliant story I have ever heard, about this skinny little bloke called Merlin giving hell to the princess himself.”

“Princess?” Merlin said, brow furrowed in confusion.

“Sorry, _regent_.” Gwaine's arm returned to its place around Merlin's shoulders. “Right in front of his dear old da to boot. And for that, I owe you a drink.”

“I – I'm not supposed to drink while on the clock,” Merlin attempted to protest.

“Well enough,” Gwaine said with a shrug. “We've got that new Sasperilla from the west. Good stuff. Doesn't have the burn like that whiskey – now there's a drink! But they can't all be perfect.”

Merlin wondered if he should probably protest – he was still on shift after all. But he never had a chance to so much as open his mouth when Gwaine guided him through a set of rather ornate oak doors that opened to the parlor – the very parlor off-limits to the crew, with its billiard table, lounge chairs, bar and rather expensive and easy-to-stain looking red carpet. 

“Morgana, guess who I ran into!” Gwaine crowed.

The dark haired woman curled in one of the chairs glanced up from her book briefly and with little interest. “Someone wise enough to know better than to wear those boots while walking in here, I hope.” 

Merlin looked down at his boots, not as filthy as they could usually get but definitely grimy. He looked at Gwaine, who gave him an apologetic lift og his shoulder. Merlin sighed and removed his boots, setting them to the side outside the door. This was going to end in disaster, he just knew it. 

“Uh, you do realize I'm not really allowed to come in here...” Merlin tried.

Gwaine just laughed. “Of course you are, I invited you. Seriously, Morgana, you've got to meet this bloke. It's _the_ bloke.”

“The bloke, huh?” Morgana said, still reading away.

“Yeah, the one his highness had a little run in with.”

And like magic, Merlin was suddenly surrounded, Gwaine on one side and Morgana on the other as they plied him with Sasperilla and begged him for the details of his encounter with Arthur. He complied, a little too bewildered not to even while wondering if this was a good idea – they were talking about the regent on Lord Uther's very ship, for goodness sake, and either one of the regents could walk in at any moment. Neither did Merlin know these people. There also wasn't much to tell, but what he did have to say seemed to leave them in stitches, which then led to them regaling him with stories of their own, as though Merlin had been inadvertantly recruited into some secret let's-humiliate-Arthur club.

Which, at any other time, Merlin might have been more than happy to participate in, but there was work to be done – menial as it was – and after a quick look at his pocket watch Merlin balked to see he only had twenty minutes remaining for lunch. 

“You know, I really should be going,” Merlin said, but Gwaine was having none of it. The moment Merlin attempted to slide from the stool, Gwaine tugged him right back into place and ordered another Sasperilla. 

Merlin checked his watch again. Seventeen minutes for lunch. His stomach growled forlornly.

“Really, this has been fun but I need to--” Merlin began.

“What the hell is he doing here!”

Merlin slumped and groaned. Of course. Of course this was going to happen, because luck had always despised Merlin and fate had long ago decided to make him the butt of all its jokes. But let it never be said that Merlin slunk away from a problem like a kicked dog – except when he did, mostly because he really had been kicked. Not this time, though. He straightened his back, turned in his seat, and gave Camelot's only future regent his flattest, hardest glare.

Arthur glared right back. He was flanked by a lovely dark-skinned woman and a man with curling brown hair and gentle features, and both were exchanging rather uncomfortable looks with each other.

“Don't get your knickers in a twist, princess, I invited him,” Gwaine said. He was looking far too amused for what the situation warranted, he and Morgana both, which only did to increase Arthur's ire. It was making Merlin exponentially nervous. As annoying and condescending as the prat was, he was still regent, Uther was still his father, and it was a long way to fall if Arthur decided to toss Merlin overboard.

“I was ajust about to leave, actually,” Merlin said with as much dignity as he could muster, fighting the need to swallow and wet is suddenly parched throat. He made to get up and do just that – leave while he was still alive.

“Actually,” Arthur said, moving toward him like a snake creeping toward it's prey. “Perhaps you should stay, entertain us with whatever it was that was leaving these to so breahtless with good humor. I'm dying to hear what it was, myself. What about you Lancelot, Gwen? Wouldn't you like to hear a funny story?”

Lancelot and Gwen exchanged yet another silent conversation full of growing trepidation. Morgana huffed and rolled her eyes. “Oh, Arthur, leave him alone. There was no harm done. Besides, Gwaine was the one who made him talk.”

“Hey!” Gwaine protested.

“It wasn't like he came in here looking to tell someone. Besides, you know good and well that being humiliated by a lowly mechanic isn't the worse thing that's ever happened to you. Need I remind you of that one time in Paris? Or how about the one in Budapest, or Egypt, or Madrid?” She leaned in toward Merlin and whispered, “Remind me to tell you about the one in Madrid. Utterly pricless. Anyway,” she went on loudly. “The point is, you need to learn to lighten up.”

“And you, Morgana, need to mind your own damn business,” Arthur growled. Then suddenly he was on Merlin, grabbing him by the scruff of his coat and dragging him from the room. He tossed Merlin out hard enough for Merlin to go stumbling into the wall.

“If I ever see you in here again,” Arthur said, “Then next time it's out a window.” He vanished back into the lounge, slamming the door shut behind him. Merlin glawered at the now closed barrier.

“Like I would want to be in your precious lounge, anyway, you dollop-headed _prat_ ,” he grumbled, and went to retrieve his boots. “Think you're so bloody special just because you're the regent. Think you can do whatever you want to whom ever you want. You're an ass, that's what you are. A supercillious ass.” He was just working the second boot onto his left foot when the door eased open and the man, Lancelot, slipped out, the cresting sounds of an argument trailing him. He gave Merlin a kindly look and apologetic smile.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Fine,” Merlin groused, giving his boot laces a hard tug. “Not the first time I've been tossed from a room by a prat.” Remembering who it was he was talking about, Merlin tacked on a rather mulish, “Sorry.” 

Lancelot merely chuckled. “He's not as bad as he first seems. Stubborn, definitely prideful, but a good man beneath it all.”

“Yeah, when he's not giving someone hell for accidentally dropping a few spare parts.”

“Well, I did say he was stubborn, and prideful. What's your name, lad?”

Merlin, finished with his boot, stood upright and brushed his clothes to straighten them, gathering the dignity ripped from him when Arthur had tossed him out. “Merlin.”

“I'm Lancelot,” said Lancelot. “And, again, are you all right?”

Merlin shrugged. “As I said, nothing I'm not used to.”

Lancelot's smile turned a little sad at that. “Good. Gwen was worried. Arthur forgets his own strength, sometimes. I do apologize for that, and for Gwaine dragging you here to begin with. He's a good man as well, if not always very considerate.”

This made Merlin smile. “It wasn't that bad, actually. I've never had Sasperilla before.” Then he checked his watch, and dropped his smile. “Although it would have been nice to have some time left for lunch.”

“Are you needed urgently?” Lancelot asked.

“Well... unless something is in urgent need of sweeping.”

Lancelot grinned and winked, “Then I'm quite sure the only one to miss your presence will be the broom.”

Lancelot returned to the lounge, where the sounds of arguing had died down. Merlin chuckled softly to himself, then headed off for lunch. 

TBC...


	5. Chapter 5

It was all Arthur's fault, Merlin was sure of it. There was no other explanation for how he could have gone from sweeping and helping the lads keep the flyers upkept to laundry, dishes, dusting (dusting, of all things!) and every other menial task the derrigible's steward could think to cough up. It seemed Merlin woke every morning to the steward announcing the changed chore list over the speakers and Merlin's name being at the top of that list. It was revenge is what it was – the sneaky royal bastard – two days of revenge keeping Merlin so busy he barely made it in time for meals. 

Merlin made sure to make his complaints to Gaius about it during dinner. Gaius, wanting to see how his ward was getting on, had taken to inviting Merlin to evening meals in the fancy banquet room, dinners which Merlin was mostly late to, thank you very much stupid chore list. 

“Oh, Merlin. Come, now. Arthur isn't that vindictive,” Gaius said as he savored his mushroom bisque.

“It's mostly Arthur's clothes I'm washing, I'm sure of it,” Merlin grumbled, mostly sitrring his own soup and barely tasting it when he finally took a spoonful. “I recognized one of the suit jackets, and the shirts look too expensive to be anyone else's. And I _do_ know the room I keep cleaning is his, I saw that sword he likes to carry lying on the dresser.”

But Gaius, being older and wiser and, in Merlin's opinion at the moment, not particularly compassionate, chuckled it off muttering something about boys being boys. Then he warned Merlin sternly not to seek his revenge via damage to Arthur's things. 

It was a rather chafing temptation. 

But Merlin, contrary to what Gaius might consider him, was no fool. He was well acquainted with the endless cycle of one-upmanship (that usually ended in him in a headlock or with his arm twisted up his back) and he wasn't in the mood for it. Let Arthur have his sulk. The journey wouldn't last forever and once it was finished and they were off the Chariot, it would only be a matter of time before Merlin was a distant memory in Arthur's mind. 

In the meantime, he would endure the prat's foul smelling socks. It wasn't that bad, to be honest. The washing room, like the rest of the ship, was quite the feat of engineering, with washing tubs that were automated and a heat room where the clothes were hung to dry twice as fast. But it was uncomfortably warm, murderously humid, and those articles of clothes too delicate to wash in the automated tubs had to be washed by hand. Ironically and annoyingly enough, the vast majority of shirts and jackets that Merlin assumed belonged to Arthur were too dainty for the tubs. 

Merlin was washing what seemed to be a pair of socks, splashing them into the tub then pulling them out and wringing them before plunging them back in again. This was most definitely revenge, because who in their right mind wore socks too dainty for the bloody washing tubs to handle? They were wool, for goodness sake! Thick enough to withstand being assaulted by a thousand angry cats! They even smelled like they'd been assaulted by cats.

“There you are!”

Merlin groaned piteously. “Nope. Sorry. I told you everything there was to tell about what happened with me and Arthur.”

But rather than look crestfallen, Gwaine looked contrite, not that it did anything to remove the jaunt in his step.

“Actually,” Gwaine said, rapping his knuckles on the wash tub's rim in a silent rhythme. “I came to apologize.”

“For what?” Merlin said absently, still plunging and wringing despite Gwain'es proximity. If the man wanted to stand so close to washing water, that was his choice. Merlin wouldn't deny that he was feeling a bit bitter toward Gwaine since, technically, it was his fault Merlin was in this mess. Merlin wasn't normally one to hold grudges, but he had hoped rather foolishly that his new life in Camelot would be just that – a new life, with no bullies and no having to look over his shoulder anytime someone was feeling disgruntled toward him. 

But what Merlin couldn't wrap his head around was that, this time, it wasn't about being born with magic. This time, it had just happened, for no other reason than Merlin trying to stick up for someone, then happening again because two people had wanted to have a chat with him. Lords, it was like he was cursed to forever be someone's punching bag. And it was making Merlin feel rather sour and unforgiving at the moment. 

“For this, all of it,” Gwaine said, sweeping his hand to encompasse the washing room. “I knew Arthur could be an ass but I didn't think he'd get this...” he grimaced as he glanced around, “creative. Usually he just hits whatever annoys him.” He chuffed. “Usually that's me.”

“So I was right. This is his fault and this is revenge,” Merlin said.

Gwaine shrugged. “He has been grinning a little too much, lately. Oh, and then he attempted to gloat about it, subtly, this morning. Something about having his own idiot manservant. But 'subtle' and 'gloating' tend to repel each other when it comes to Arthur.”

“Look,” Gwaine went on. “I want to make it up to you. A real drink, after hours, on me, and I'll do the story telling. We'll do it some place Arthur won't accidentally walk in on us and have you wash his knickers the next day, eh?”

Merlin grinned and held up a pair of undershorts. “Too late for that. Really, though, you don't have to.”

“I insist,” Gwaine said, leaning in on the tub's rim. “You're a descent chap, Merlin. You don't deserve this.”

“Ah, it's not so bad,” Merlin said, plungeing and wringing the undershorts with a frown of mild disgust. He forced the disgust aside for a cheery smile to help prove his point. “I don't mind a little cleaning. At least it's not being locked in closets or finding my lunch in one of the oil bins.” At Gwaine's rather disturbed look, Merlin shook his head. “Don't ask.”

“Too late,” Gwaine said, mildly troubled. “Sounds almost like you need a drink whether you like it or not--”

There conversation was cut to an abrupt end by the sudden mechanical wail of the alarm. A voice crackled through the intercom calling everyone to get to their stations and to be ready.

Merlin and Gwaine stared at each other.

“You got a station?” Gwaine said over the alarm.

“Um... I'm not sure.”

Gwaine grinned merrily. “You do now. You're coming with me so we can find out what's going on.”

Merlin obeyed, grabbing his coat draped over a basket along the way. Whatever was going on, be it good, bad, or just a drill, it had put a smile on Gwaine's face, an extra spring in his step and gave Merlin the uneasy feeling that were this, indeed, a dangerous situation, the man would practically be skipping. 

Of course it would be just like Merlin's luck to put him with a man hoping for a fight. 

The two of them pushed and dodged through the flow of people running to where ever it was they needed to be, the clatter of footfalls competing with the blare of the siren. Gwaine led Merlin through the bowels of the ship, then up the metal steps past the second level all the way to the third level. Once on level three, Gwaine went from a run to a fast walk through the door to the helm, Merlin scurrying after.

“So where's the party?” Gwaine announced. The cabin was the very picture of controlled chaos, men and women at their stations pulling levers and pressing switches, others darting back and forth consulting charts or each other. Lancelot, Morgana and Gwen were among them, part of that chaos.

As was Arthur talking tensely with Captain Elyan. The regent looked up with a frown.

“Where the hell have you been and what the hell is he doing here?” But Arthur didn't wait long enough for Gwaine to give his answer. “A derrigible's been spotted, it's unmarked, tailing us and getting bloody closer.”

“No answer to our hails?” Gwaine said soberly.

“None,” said Lancelot, leaning on the edge of the communication console. “The blasted thing came out of nowhere and it's matching us speed for speed. But either it doesn't have canon's or doesn't plan to use them. It should have fired on us by now. It's been within range.”

Morgana pulled a complicated-looking pistol from somewhere within her lacey emerald jacket and cocked it. “We all know what that means.”

Merlin swallowed. This may have been his first time flying in a derrigible, but he had read enough adventure books to know that when one derrigible had another within weapon's range but wasn't doing a ruddy thing about it, then you needed to be twice as worried. 

Sure enough, a communication intercom crackled, filling quickly with a frantic voice. 

“This is the crow's nest! We have flyers, I repeat, flyers! Damn it, they're grapplers!”

Merlin felt the blood rush from his face. Grapplers, the small flyers with mechanical arms like spider-legs designed to latch on to the metal hulls of derrigibles. Connected to grappling lines, the flyers would cling like ticks to the hulls allowing the enemy derrigibles to reel them in, leaving the ship undamaged for the taking.

“All flyers to their machines. Grapplers, we have grapplers!” someone said.

“Pirates?” said Morgana.

“No flags spotted,” said Gwen. “And you do know how much pirates love to advertise.”

“Come on,” said Arthur, unsheathing his rapier in one hand and pulling another of the complicated pistols from its holster with the other. “We need to be ready in case of invasion. Send out the call to arms.”

But the group had yet to leave the cabin when, emerging from the cloud cover like a whale through the breakers, was another derrigible, and it was heading right for them. Communications erupted with shouts of another approaching enemy, the cabin erupted with orders and then Elyan was at the wheel aiding the steersman in yanking the thing a hard right. Merlin could see through the window the tiny dots of grapplers heading their way. He flinched at the whine of propellers as the Chariot's own flyers shot passed the window, whipping through the sky to meet the enemy.

“Oh, we are definitely about to be borded,” Gwaine said. The grapplers were many, like a cloud of ants, the Chartiot's flyers barely able to put a dent in them. That was the problem with grapplers, being smaller meant being faster and a more difficult target. Two grapplers shot forward beneath the hull, their mechanical legs spread and looking wickedly sharp, and the ship shuddered when contact was made.

“Let's go,” said Arthur, his face like stone. “Elyan, they start to reel us in, you give the word to clear out and set this thing so it goes down. _Then get to a bloody escape flyer_.”

Elyan nodded curtly. “Aye, sir.”

The Order hurried from the room, Gwaine last and clapping Merlin on the shoulder in passing. “Know how to handle a weapon?” he said. He didn't wait for Merlin to answer, thrusting a pistol against his stomach and forcing Merlin to take it. 

The ship shuddered as more grapplers made contact. The Order plus Merlin and several mechanics made their way to the passenger section. They barely entered it when glass shattered from behind one of the many closed doors. The doors burst open and men in the dark leathers of flyers rushed into the narrow corridor, rifles or pistols at the ready for whoever they encountered first. Unfortunately for them, they encountered the Order, who immediately started firing. Whatever had been done to the pistols to make them look so odd had also given them a dead aim, and two heartbeats later the first squad of invaders was down.

Arthur lead the way as they swept through the third level, taking down wave after wave of invaders who seemed to swarm in like ants over a sugar cube. Those invaders who managed to duck and dodge the pistols were dispatched either by the rapiers of Arthur and Lancelot, Gwaine's fists, Gwen's dagger or an impressive set of kicks and punches from Morgana. 

Merlin followed safely behind, feeling useless and liable to get in the way at any moment. Then he saw, through one of the now many open doors, another invader coming through the window into the parlor. A flash of magic and the man went flying out, screaming.

“What was that?” Gwaine said, backing up and frowning at the empty room.

“Um. Oh, one of them slipped,” Merlin said lamely. 

Gwaine shrugged. “Lucky us.” Then moved on. They pushed through, checking rooms to make sure no one had been trapped by the invaders. A few mechanics hadn't been able to make it to their stations and had taken refuge where they could. A few more... hadn't made it anywhere at all. Gwaine cursed each time they came to a body and took the time to close their eyes.

A communication intercom crackled. “We're being reeled! We're being reeled! Evacuate! I repeat, evacuate!”

“Move to the launch bay!” Arthur hollered. The Order shot and fought their way to the other end of the level and the stairs. If the upper levels had been hell, then the bay was the tenth level of hell, or a scene out of the dime novels of the West, men on both sides ducking behind whatever they could – crates, sacks, stacks of pipes, parts and flyers – firing at each other, the enemy attempting to surge forward and the Chariot's men pushing them back. The Order's arrival with reinforcements turned the tide, providing ample cover for those unarmed to reach the escape flyers. 

The flyers were long, with six seats, the front seat behind the cockpit able to carry two. The flyers were held in place by cranes that with the pull of a lever would open and drop the flyers through the bay doors. 

Doors that really should have been opened by now.

“They've got the door switch surrounded!” Lancelot called. 

“Five men with me!” Arthur said, and he, Lancelot and four other men darted from cover to cover, landing to landing, clearing a way to the switch while the rest of the Order and the men kept the enemy back. Everyone else clamoured up ladders into the flyers, and Merlin was releived to see Gaius already settled in one with Percival at the wheel. 

A hand landing heavily on Merlin's shoulder made him jump. He whirled around to see a disheveled but smiling Gwaine.

“Best get aboard while you still can,” he said. 

“I've got my own ride, actually,” Merlin said, smiling tremulously back. If you had a flyer, you brought it, because the more the merrier. “So if you need a ride, you've got one.”

“Appreciate it, mate-- look out!” He shoved Merlin one way while he leaped the other just as several bullets whizzed past. Merlin looked up to see some of the enemy weaving through the rigging and landings of the upper levels, firing at the flyers and whatever else they could. A flash of magic from Merlin and they all came raining down.

“Merlin?”

Merlin looked at a very stunned Gwaine.

“Did your eyes turn gold?” Gwaine said. His brow furrowed. 

Merlin didn't have a chance to answer. Bullets sparked off the metal of the walkway they were on, forcing them to separate and find cover. There was a clank, and Merlin was nearly thrown from his feet when the hold filled with the rushing roar of the wind. Below him, the bay doors parted and the sky gaped like a mouth waiting to be fed. 

Arthur had done it. 

Flyers began to drop into a space of sky cleared by the fighters. Merlin struggled upright, holding tight the rails as he fought his way against the wind to his machine. All around him, those remaining clamoured into whatever flyer was still available. 

Someone shouted, above the roar and the gunfire, “Where's Arthur!”

Merlin looked up. He saw the man in question making a mad run for it, hunched against the bullets pinging off the rails and floor. 

Then Arthur arched, crying out, and went down. He was alone, no one able to reach him with the enemy firing with the last minute desperation of those trying to prevent someone, anyone, from escaping. 

“Oh, hell,” Merlin groaned, then ducked and dashed for it. He made it to Arthur before the enemy, and those too close he sent flying. Merlin lifted a groggy, half-out-of-it Arthur to his feet and leaned him against his shoulder. 

“Come on, move!” Merlin grunted. “I've got him! I've got Arthur!” he called. He half walked, half dragged Arthur the rest of the way to the Gold Dragon. A touch to the machine's head, a flash of magic, and the cockpit door parted with a whine of gears and hiss of hydraulics. Bullets' bounced off the metal skin, causing Merlin to huddle behind the head. He risked a glance and saw more of the enemy charging his way.

The dirrigible gave an almighty and gut-dropping lurch, the patches of brown and green land below shifting. The Chariot was going down.

Growling, Merlin threw out his hand, and those barreling toward him flew backward with a cry. Merlin used a short-lived spell that made Arthur lighter and piled him into the cockpit, then clamoured in after. It was tight, it was awkward, Merlin having to position a barely conscious Arthur so that the regent was draped against Merlin's back, his head on his shoulder. But Merlin ignored it, flipped three switches, pulled two levers then gripped the handles until his knuckles were white.

“Time to go,” he said. His magic flashed.

He was no longer in the machine, he _was_ the machine, the claws unclamped from their purchase as if they were his own fingers, the wings spread as though they were attached to his back. The machine did not leap, he did, diving with an exhileration that made his heart want to fly from his chest into the open sky. 

And into a problem.

There were so many flyers in the air. It was easy enough to tell friend from foe – the Chariot's fighters red and gold – but with so many buzzing about Merlin had no idea where the escape flyers had gone. 

And because Merlin's luck hated him, two of the darker flyers were heading his way.

“Wonderful,” he groused. “Hold on, my lord,” he said.

When Merlin had built the Dragon, it had been with every intention of flying the thing and flying the hell out of it. Which he had, nearly crashing it more times than he could count and sending his mother into fits of worry. But he had learned, picking up tips from the pilots who tested their machines in the open lands of Ealdor, by studying birds in flight, and then figuring the rest out for himself. And he had gotten good, good enough to impress the test pilots. Merlin might have been rubbish when it came to a fight, but he knew how to fly. 

A merlin is a bird, after all.

Rather than banking hard to avoid the oncoming flyers, Merlin let his machine fall in a dead drop, then with a thought adjusted the wings to catch air and propel him forward beneath the attackers. But the bloody things were everywhere, two more coming straight at him. He tured the Dragon on its side and flew straight between them. He sensed more than saw another tailing him, so shot upward in a loop coming down right on top of it and shredding its canvas with metal claws.

More came. Merlin dove, rose, spun to avoid the bullets being fired at him. He grabbed a flyer in his claws and snapped its wing. He pushed through using every trick he had until his head spun and his stomach began to rebel. Behind him, Arthur groaned in his ear.

“Almost through, sire!” Merlin hollered, and pushed his machine with everything he had through a cluster of flyers. He burst through, with nothing but open sky ahead. Now it was time to get lost.

Thank goodness for mountains and trees, that's all Merlin could say. A quick duck behind a peak then a quick drop toward the trees, and the distant whine of propellers faded into nothing. Merlin skimmed the canopy of a tree-buried valley until he found a suffecient enough clearing to set down. It wasn't ideal, full of rocks and logs, making for a bumpy landing. Once down, Merlin had the Dragon walk into the safety of the trees, wishing he'd gone with something a bit darker in coloring. He didn't go far, just to the shadiest spot he could find, branches snapping and birds fluttering in a panic all around him. Finally, the machine settled on the mossy ground and the great head lowered. 

“Wait, not yet!” Merlin said, scrambling to get the doors open. The head rose again at a thought, just enough to get Merlin through the trees and give him an unobstructed view of both their surroundings and the sky. He saw The King's Chariot, gleaming gold and copper in the sun, tethered like a harpooned whale. But the lines suddenly cut, releasing the Chariot as it fell. It never hit the ground, colliding with the mountainside instead in an explosion of flaming gas. Merlin's heart broke to see it.

“Down,” he breathed sadly. The head lowered, bringing him back into the safety of the woods. 

It was far from over, Merlin knew. For the dirrigible to have been tethered had meant the Chariot and its crew had been wanted alive. But there was little Merlin could do about it except keep his head down and make sure Arthur did the same. 

Merlin used his lightening spell to pull Arthur from the cockpit, otherwise it would have been a mess. The regent's back was covered in blood, heaviest at the shoulder, but none on the front. The bullet was still in there. 

“Oh, that's not good,” Merlin moaned. Gaius had talked of bullet wounds and how a bullet left in the shoulder could lead to infection. Merlin settled Arthur against the body of the Dragon, then dug the little survival kit mandetory for every flyer from the compartment at the back of the cockpit. There was a pack of food and water, the first aid kit, and five blankets – enough for the pilot and however many passengers the flyer could hold (although Merlin had never really seen how many could squeeze into the passenger seats between the neck and the back. It wasn't the most comfortable place to be on the Dragon, and had mostly been intended for storing things, not people).

Merlin laid out one of the blankets. He removed Arthur's jacket, and after that laid Arthur out stomach-down. The blood was so thick Merlin could smell it, like metal and something sickeningly sweet. He grimaced, feeling suddenly queasy.

“Sorry about this,” he said, ripping the material of Arthur's fine shirt. Probably one he'd cleaned not that long ago. “I haven't exactly lived with Gaius long enough to know what I'm doing.” But all he needed to know was to get the bullet out before infection set in.

And he had the means.

Merlin's magic was like his flying – self-taught for the most part, with bits and pieces picked up here and there. Unfortunately, not so much when it came to healing magic. It was tricky business, trying to get the skin to knit together, the blood to replenish, and sometimes the body seemed to want to have nothing to do with it. Merlin knew – most of his healing practice had been on himself, and most of it had been a dismal failure. 

But it was either try or sit back and hope for rescue before Arthur bled out.

Merlin placed his hands above the wound, the right overlapping the left. There was no flash of magic this time. Merlin needed words, ancient words that for all their impossible spelling had felt natural on Merlin's tongue from the first day he had said them. He spoke them now, felt his magic flood into his chest like warm water, then from his chest into his hands. He felt the magic pour from his fingers into the wound, and felt as they tugged at something. 

The something wriggled from the wound with a tiny squelch. Merlin nearly lost his lunch. 

But the bullet – more like bullet fragments that, for a moment, seemed unending as they slithered from the wound – was out. Merlin released the magic with a gasp. The little bastards had been fighters.

Now for the hard part. Merlin took a deep breath and placed both hands over the wound.

“Okay,” he said. “I can do this. Just need to focus.”

Merlin spok different words, and his magic flowed, pouring into Arthur. Merlin sensed his magic as it coaxed all the complicated bits and pieces of the human body to fuse back together, felt as the body tried to fight him, as though knowing what was being done wasn't all that natural and so was possibly something it might want to avoid. But Merlin kept at it, saying the words over and over and pouring as much magic as he could into the injury until flesh, blood and bone finally began to comply. Only when Merlin sensed that the wound was closed and in no danger of bleeding out beneath the skin did Merlin finally stop, slumping with another gasp, his own body shaking with fatigue. Never had he pushed so much magic into one little spell in his life. 

All that remained of the wound was a bit of puckered and reddened skin, nothing pretty, but Arthur would live. 

“Good,” Merlin said, voice cracked with fatigue. He then happily passed out next to Arthur. 

TBC...


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good gravy I am just full of mistakes! Turns out I mis-numbered the chapters, so it looks like the story is actually twelve chapters long, not thirteen. Ugh, it is just not my day.

Arthur had the oddest dream. In it, he had been struck down, but rather than Gwaine, Lancelot, Gwen or Morgana rescuing him, it had been that scrawny and obnoxious mechanic. The mechanic had dragged him to a flyer that had looked more like a dragon, and then proceeded to nearly kill Arthur with a series of auronautic stunts in the middle of a bloody war zone.

Arthur opened his eyes. He blinked his sticky lids up at a starry sky and towering pines whose lower halves seemed to flicker with orange-gold light. The cedar scent of smoke filled his nostrils. He lifted his head that felt heavy on his neck and looked around until his eyes fixated on the massive gold and copper head resting on the ground only five feet away.

So. Not a dream, then. Which would explain why the blow centered on his shoulder blade had felt so excrutiating. 

And, yet, when his shoulder twitched Arthur felt... nothing. He looked down at his arm, his shoulder, devoid of any sling or bandage despite his shirt having been ripped at the location of where he was sure he'd been hit. Rolling his shoulder, Arthur winced when he felt a twinge. He reached back with his other hand, touched the area where the twinge had originated, and felt only warm, puckered skin. 

A frown formed on both Arthur's brow and his lips. Since being sworn into the Order at the tender age of eighteen, Arthur had been shot a grand total of five times, only twice nearly ending his life. He knew the hot, lethal kiss that was a bullet wound as well as he knew the back of his own hand, and so knew that the pain he had felt had most definitely been that of an overly affectionate bullet. 

Arthur struggled upright and took in his surroundings at a very quick glance. When confused, get your bearings, then go from there. There was the dragon-machine, body and head down like the thing really was alive and merely resting. There was a fire crackling in a ring of stones, a small pile of supplies on one side, and on the other side, across from Arthur, the bane of Arthur's existance slumped against a tree, asleep.

Arthur lobbed a pine cone at him. It hit the idiot's head and bounced off with a small _pip_. Merlin startled awake with a snort and his legs scrabbling. Arthur smirked in satisfaction.

“You do know,” he said, startling Merlin further. “That allowing yourself to sleep when the enemy could be out there right now looking for us _is_ normally frowned upon.” Arthur's eyes darted to and from the fire. “As well as having a light source they can track us by.”

Merlin glared at him. “It's fine. I... have the camp set up so that if anyone is coming, we'll know. And we're covered.”

“Oh, we're covered, lovely. What does that even mean, we're covered?”

Merlin loooked up. Arthur did the same, and raised his eyebrow at the massive wing of the flyer spread just enough to cover the fire. Were anyone to search for them from above, the wing would block the firelight. 

Arthur looked back at Merlin. He refused to admit that he was impressed, especially since he still didn't know how the camp was “set up” to alert them of any danger.   
And then there was also the not-so-little matter of Arthur _not_ bleeding out on the forest floor when, by all rights according to the pain he recalled, he should have been. 

Things weren't adding up, and Arthur wasn't liking it.

“And my shoulder?” Arthur said. No more games. He wanted the truth and wanted it now.

“What about it?” Merlin said waspishly. Unfortunately for him, unease had belied his petulance. The question had made him nervous. “Is it giving you trouble?”

“Quite the opposite, actually. Which I find rather odd seeing as how I recall quite clearly being shot. And beleive me, _Mer_ lin, when you're shot, that's not a feeling you forget easily.”

“Even if it's just a flesh wound?”

“I highly doubt that it was.”

The two of them stared at each other, glaring.

“You were barely conscious. You're remembering wrong. It was just a flesh wound,” Merlin said.

“And you're a terrible liar,” Arthur said.

It was Merlin who broke eye contact, mostly so he could roll his eyes. “Is it really that impossible for you just to say thank you? Is there some... inherent need to question every bloody thing or is it just the way of an Order member not to be grateful for small favors? You're alive, you're not as injured as you thought, you're safe and come morning, we'll find the others, leave this place and live to be ambushed and boarded another day. Why can't you just be grateful for that!”

Merlin huffed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He looked tired.

No, more than that, he looked exhausted, as though his little nap hadn't so much as added a drop to whatever energy he had expended getting Arthur to the ground. He was paler, with rings under his eyes like bruises that had been painted permanently to his skin. The fire only made it worse, adding flickering shadows that deepened the sunken and hallow places of his face. 

Arthur didn't even think about it when he asked, “What happened?” with a softness to his voice that took Merlin by surprise. Merlin stared at him like a deer in the lights, then seemed to collapse in on himself, the exhaustion covering him like a shroud.

“You were injured, unconscious, I got you out. The details... don't matter, I can explain later. But you're right about us being in danger. We're safe for now but it won't last long. There were flyers out, more than I could count. They didn't leave until the sun began to set, and one of those derrigibles is still out there.” The boy's haggard face became even more pinched with troubled thought. “I think... I mean, I'm no expert but,” he sighed. “I read a lot,” he added lamely. “Maybe I'm wrong, I don't know, but this all feels like an ambush, like they've been waiting here for some time. The King's Chariot was always said to be the hardest dirrigible to catch and yet it was brought down in practically a heartbeat. Um... no offense.”

“None taken,” Arthur said, because he did have to admit (because strategy and common sense demanded it) that Merlin had a damn good point. The King's Chariot was – had been – the fastest dirigible in any land, with speed records no dirrigible had ever disputed. But there had been two dirrigbles, pinning the King's Chariot and making speed absolutely pointless. And the only way such an ambush could have been effective was if the enemy had known they were coming. 

Not only had known they were coming, but knew exactly where they would be. Not an easy feat with so much sky to cover, not unless they knew the exact location where the Chariot was going to end up. 

Arthur suspicions before the journey began had been spot on – this had all been a trap.

“Could... there have been a traitor?” Merlin asked hesitantly.

Arthur immediately shook his head. “No, because there didn't need to be. Damn it!” He slammed his fist into the ground, making his shoulder twinge mutely. “You're right. You're bloody right, this was a setup. They allowed their own to get captured and fed our spies false information ensuring that we would travel to this very spot. All for a bloody trap that we walked right into. Damn it, damn it, damn it!”

“I'm sorry,” Merlin said kindly.

Arthur shook his head. “No. We may be grounded but we aren't captured. Not all of us at least.” Which made him bunch his brow. Morgause, Cenred or whoever had planned this would have known the crew and passengers would make an escape and end up scattered, making them difficult to find. But had they wanted the Order stopped then all they had to do was blow the Chariot to kingdom come. So what had been the goal? To take prisoners? A prisoner? To cripple the Order to deal with later? The questions spun like a maelstrom in Arthur's head and none of them coughing up any answers.

But answers could wait. What mattered was finding their people and regrouping to face whatever Morgause and Cenred had in store, next. 

Which meant having to cover a lot of ground on foot if they didn't want to get caught. Arthur appraised Merlin and his sickly visage a second time and sighed. It was going to be far easier said than done. He also didn't like the idea of leaving the dragon-flyer behind where just anyone could get it. He remembered their flight, even if it still did seem like a dream. The machine wasn't merely pretty to look at, it was advanced, and Arthur loathed the idea of either Morgause or Cenred getting their hands on such a device. 

“You really made that?” Arthur couldn't help asking, studying the flyer's intricate details.

Merlin, still apparently lost in thought while he nibbled a thumbnail, nodded absently.

“By yourself?”

“I had some help but, yeah, most of it. What I could.”

“How long did it take?”

“Years,” Merlin said. “Years on years.” He looked up at his machine, his gaze going soft, fond, but a little melancholy, Arthur thought. “It was... something to look forward to, I guess you could say.”

“Why, life not exciting in... where ever it is you grew up?”

Merlin shrugged, nonplussed. “It wasn't always roses. Building something, it gave me something to focus on, something to hope for. So I made it to the best of my ability.”

“That's quite an ability, then,” Arthur said, bewildered. It was an understatement, of course. Only the royal mechanics had the means and the patience to be able to create something as equal. But the way it had flown... Arthur was no pilot, but he had ridden as a passenger in more flyers than he could count. He knew of the skill a pilot could gain, and so knew that Merlin's level of flying would have been considered expert.

Beyond expert, in fact, to something near impossible, because even the most agile of flyers could not match the speed nor maneuverablity that Merlin's mechanical dragon had displayed.

Once again, things were not adding up. 

“Merlin--” Arthur began, still wanting answers whether Merlin thought the details mattered or not. 

Merlin stiffened like a dog hearing it's master's call, but a call coming from somewhere within the woods. The exhaustion fled from Merlin and he immediately was on his feet, gathering everything he'd removed from the packs of supplies and stuffing them back in. 

“We need to go,” he said, tight and urgent.

Arthur scrambled to his feet. “Why is it... did something set off... whatever it was you set up to alert us of danger?”

“Um...” Merlin said, suddenly edgy. “You could say that, yeah. Just, look, we need to go, right now. I wasn't paying as close attention as I should have been. They'll be here any min--”

A twig snapped uncomfortably close to their vicinity, and another followed. Lights flashed within the gloom of the woods, first one, then two, then four and eight. Merlin's throat spasmed in a tense swallow.

“You're right,” he said, “I shouldn't have fallen asleep.”

There was a shout followed by another shout, and the lights bobbed as those holding them raced toward the camp. Arthur grabbed his rapier on the ground with one hand, his pistol with the other and postioned himself in front of Merlin.

“If you have a weapon then I suggest you get it out,” he said grimly.

“I've got something better,” Merlin said. He then darted to his machine, slapped his palm against its neck, and hissed something in an arcane language.

Merlin's eyes flashed gold.

The men holding the lights burst into the camp, guns at the ready as they shouted orders for Arthur to drop his weapons.

The mechanical dragon clanked, whined and, with an agility not possible for a machine, rose fluidly to its feet. 

“Duck!” Merlin hollered. He grabbed Arthur's arm and pulled him down just as a massive metal tail swung overhead. It hit the men, sending them flying. A swing of its massive head and four more went sailing. 

“Come on!” Merlin said. He pulled Arthur up and pushed him into a run.

“Your machine--” Arthur began.

“Safe. Only I can operate it.”

They tore into the forest but the moment they were beyond the light of the camp fire magnified by the reflective gold body of the mechnical dragon, they stumbled. 

Until a blue orb of light materialized in Merlin's palm. 

“Keep going!” Merlin practically snarled, and it was a moment before Arthur realized he'd been frozen to the spot, gaping.

“You have magic,” Arthur said, finally remembering how to run. “You have bloody magic!”

“Run now, yell later!” Merlin said.

They ran, leaping over fallen logs and swatting aside low-hanging branches until the sounds of battle behind them weren't even a distant echoe.

“Won't the machine stop fighting with you so far away?” Arthur panted.

“Eventually,” Merlin panted back. 

They finally slowed, too exhausted to keep running and adrenaline having run its course now that the danger was out of hearing rage. But because the danger wasn't exactly past, they kept walking, guided by the orb of light cupped in Merlin's hand. 

“Er... won't they see that?” Arthur asked. 

“Only if they get within five feet of us and by then it'll be too late for them. So whatever you do, don't wander off more than five feet.”

Arthur chuffed, shaking his head at what felt like utter absurdity. “Oh, that explains it, that explains it all. The healing, your machine. You're full of all kinds of surprises, aren't you, Merlin?”

Having postioned himself alongside Merlin, he saw the boy's nervous flicker of a glance. “Is that a problem?” he said with such pathetic bravado that Arthur nearly laughed. This boy, this skinny, grease-moneky of a boy, could take him out with less than one blow and Arthur was making him edgy.

“Not at all,” Arthur said with sacharrine levity. “Not one bit. Well, I suppose there is the niggling little issue of a _mechanic_ posessing an ability that, for most, requires years of rigorous schooling that allows little time for other pursuits – mechanics being one of them. Or so I've heard.” He stared at Merlin, narrowing his eyes. “Tell me, Merlin. Was I wrong to say that there was a traitor in our midst?”

The result was not what Arthur was expecting. He expected fear and stammering as Merlin tried in futility to fight the accusations, or anger that Arthur would dare ever suggest such a thing. What he got was a groan and a return of that exhaustion that had made Merlin seem so sickly.

“Am I right? Wrong?” Arthur pressed. He tightened his grip on both his rapier and pistol. 

“Yes, you're wrong,” Merlin groused, kicking through the woods like a sulking child. “So very, very wrong.” Then he stopped, and Arthur stopped with him, preparing for the worst. The worst was Merlin tossing up his hands as if in defeat, the orb following his right hand's every move.

“I was born with it, all right?” Merlin said. “Go on, say it. Say how it's impossible. Say how someone like me shouldn't exist. Go on and on about what a freak I am and shouldn't even be alive. Wouldn't be the first time I've heard it and I doubt it'll be the last.” He began moving again, rigidly, reminding Arthur's brain – currently rattled by Merlin's rather defeated reaction, not to mention his delcaration – to move as well.

“Born with it?” Arthur echoed.

“Yes, born with it.”

“Impossible.”

Merlin, lips pursed, nodded emphatically and swept out his hand as though to say, “there you go.”

“Nope,” Merlin said. “Just go to Ealdor and ask anyone – I was levitating my bloody crib before I could crawl. My mother nearly thought I was possessed until she saw my eyes flash. Don't ask me how or why, but that's how it is. I was born with it and the rest I figured out on my own.” He looked up thoughtfully. “I'm quite good at that, actually – figuring out things on my own.”

“And completely modest about it,” Arthur said flippantly. 

Merlin snorted, but smiled. “Yeah, it's how I did everything I did. Including healing you which, to be honest, surprised me. I'm normally rubbish at healing.”

Arthur grimaced. “Should I be worried?”

“No! No. I sensed what my magic did. You're all healed, I promise. I'm guessing the urgency helped. Panic always does give me a boost. Not always in a good way but sometimes I get lucky.”

“You're not exactly inspiring my faith in your abilities, Merlin. And why the hell are you a mechanic if you have such raw talent? Wouldn't a career in sorcery have been more ideal?”

The question seemed to make Merlin deflate. “I'd thought about it.”

“And?” Arthur said.

“And... I just wasn't interested, that's all,” Merlin said with poor dismissal.

“Lords, Merlin, you really are a pathetic liar. The real reason. Spill it. I refuse to drop the subject until you do.”

Merlin scowled at him. “Why does it matter? We're in the bleeding forest being pursued by your bleeding enemies and you're obsessing over my career choices?”

Arthur shrugged, unrepentant. “We're not being pursued at the moment, and I'm bored.”

“We might be heard.”

“Let them come. I'm sure you know a spell or two that will get rid of them.”

At this, Merlin's expression turned haggard. “Arthur, I passed out after healing you and all I want to do is lay down and go to sleep. I don't think I have it in me for another fight. Just holding this bloody orb is tiring.”

Arthur studied the orb and the hand holding it, a hand that was trembling.

“Sorry,” he said, and meant it. He listened into the silence of the forest barely broken by their trek, but heard nothing. “We're safe for now, and we can't afford to stay silent if we're to formulate a plan. Do you remember seeing any of the escape flyers and where they might have gone?”

“I know they're somewhere on the other side of the mountain ahead of us. Which we should be able to go around. I landed the moment I came around it.”

“It's still a long ways to go,” Arthur said. “Especially with patrols on the lookout. Could you use your magic in some way? Do you know any teleportation spells or the like?”

Merlin shook his head. “That's not magic you can find in the library books. I would have to go to one of the universities to learn that.” He looked at Arthur oddly. “You're okay, then? With me having magic?”

“Why wouldn't I be?”

“I was told the Pendragon's aren't fond of magic.”

Arthur took a breath and exhaled it, slowly. “No, I suppose we're not. My father especially. It's why we don't have an official sorcerer in the Order. My father doesn't trust them.”

“But... there's sorcerers in the government, the armies...” Merlin said, surprised.

Arthur chuckled without humor. “An evil necessity, my father calls it. He was betrayed, you see, in the days when he lead the Order. By a sorceress named Nimueh. She wasn't the only sorcerer in the Order but the day she defected over to the enemy was the day the Order had to learn to function without magic. We have sorcerers at the ready should we need them, but my father refuses to let me recruit any.”

“All because of what one person did?” Merlin said, apalled. “That could have been anybody. There's loads of stories about the Order being betrayed from within.”

Arthur chuckled at this. “Love your dime novels, do you?”

Merlin gave him a sheepish smile, “I... may have read a few.”

“Well, believe me, what you read isn't what you get. Bertrayals have been few but they are taken hard. Nimueh had been a dear friend to my father. He allows the use of magical artifacts and Gaius to perform magic rituals when most needed, but that's as far as he'll go.”

“Do you agree with him?” Merlin asked tentively, and there was that unease again, as though magic weren't merely a sore point with the Pendragons but something verging on illegal.

“I'm...” Arthur began, but paused, needing time to think and choose his words. It shouldn't have mattered what he said. Merlin was just a mechanic, not even a properly trained sorcerer, and a pain in the arse to boot. But there was something so skittish in the way he was looking at Arthur, waiting as if on the head of a pin for his answer, as though so much depended on what Arthur said next. 

And that made Arthur curious – curious and confused – because most of the sorcerers he knew didn't hesitate to boast when it came to their abilities. They didn't tiptoe around the topic of magic, they dove in head first and loved every second of it. 

With Merlin, it was like the boy was treading a minefield, and that made Arthur wonder what had happened – what had been said or done – to make the boy fear what he was.

Because that's what it was, Arthur realized. That's what he was seeing – fear. A tentative, hesitant fear, but still fear. Merlin was afraid of his own magic.

“I'm... mostly neither here nor there about it, I suppose,” Arthur finally said. “I've confronted enough wicked sorcerers that you would think I would hate anything to do with magic. But then I think, if only we had had our own sorcerer, or our own enchanted sword, or our own magical what-have-you. I don't know what to think of it, most of the time. There are times when it seems so utterly wicked that one person could have so much power, that it doesn't corrupt so completely as to turn all those who weild it into monsters.”

Arthur wasn't sure, but he could have sworn Merlin's face had gone a shade paler.

“But then...” Arthur rolled his shoulder. “I've seen it do amazing things. Amazing, beautiful things. It's even saved my life a few times.”

“Like now?” Merlin said with a small smile.

“Like now,” Arthur said. He looked up at the sky that at some point in time had gone gray with the coming dawn. “I think you can put that light out, now, if you want.”

Merlin did so, and gladly according to the way he exhaled as if relieved of a heavy burden. 

“There is one thing I can do now that's it's lighter out,” Merlin said. He stared into the forest, and his eyes glowed with gold. Arthur watched, bewildered and just a little unnerved. The boy was absolutely still, just staring, his eyes shining. Then the gold faded and Merlin took a breath as if remembering the importance of oxygen. 

“The way ahead is clear for now, as long as we keep going straight.” He smiled brightly. “I think there may be a cave we could hide in not far from here.”

“And you determined all this by staring into thin air,” Arthur stated. 

“No, I determined this by using magic,” Merlin huffed. He gestured at his face. “Did you not see the eyes glowing?”

“I'm aware you used magic, Merlin, but we're not all bloody sorcerers. For all I know you were communicating our location to the enemy.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Oh, are you still on abou that?”

Arthur crossed his arms and glared. “I am the head of the Order of Avalon. It's my job to be cautious.”

“More like paranoid,” Merlin muttered.

“I heard that.”

“I was seeing ahead, that's all,” Merlin said. “It's basic magic even a child can learn. I know it's not exactly teleportation but it's the best I can do.”

They started off again, Merlin taking the lead since it was his path. The woods began to wake around them with the echo of bird song and fluttering birds. Everything smelled of wood, pine and water from the morning dew. It would be a beautiful day, the air the right amount of cool to keep their journey from wearying them too soon. 

Lords, Arthur didn't want to even think about how far they would have to walk. Merlin might have happily assumed that the others had landed somewhere on the other side of a mountain but protocol for escapes dictated that all emergency fliers get as far from the danger as possible and, if possible, to keep going until a village, town or city could be reached in order to wire for help. 

The last time Arthur had looked at the charts, an hour before the attack, the nearest village had been fifty miles out. 

Fifty miles, with limited supplies and the enemy searching for them. The best course of action would be to hide and wait for reinforcements. It wouldn't be the first time Arthur made due with little to no survival gear. He knew how to hunt, and Merlin had his magic. 

Lords, Arthur still couldn't wrap his head around it. Merlin, the bumbling mechanic, a magic user. Although it certainly explained why Arthur, trained to take down a whole squadron, had found it next to impossible to put one skinny idiot in his place. 

The skinny idiot could have blasted him to nothing if he'd wanted to. And if that wasn't a sobering thought, nothing was. Arthur studied Merlin out of the corner of his eye – the old, dirty coat of the make favored by pilots, the pair of grimy goggles hanging from his skinny neck like a scarf, the grease-stained trousers and boots that made him look more like a child playing grown up in his father's clothes. 

Born with magic. Who the hell was born being able to use magic? Well, other than Merlin, of course. And, once again, Arthur wanted to know why the hell this kid wasn't living the high life at one of the many magic universities, but instead slaving away up to his elbows in flyer parts and grease. Arthur knew well enough that in the grand scheme of things it didn't matter, not with them being hunted in the woods with rescue miles as well as days away. But it niggled at Arthur, all of it.

Born with magic, and Merlin chose to be a mechanic instead.

Born with magic, which was bothersome by itself. Arthur may not have been an expert in sorcerer but even he knew sorcerers weren't born, they were made. You either chose sorcery or you didn't. Merlin hadn't chosen magic, but he had it and had it in spades. And in a world where mysterious items like this Emrys could mean the hope or doom for the world, Arthur couldn't help wondering if it meant anything. 

_One step at a time, Arthur,_ Arthur said to himself. _Survival first, speculation later. And why does it even matter!_. Because it didn't. It shouldn't. Merlin had magic, his magic was keeping them alive, but a part of Arthur – the part trained to see more than what was in front of him or the part tainted by his father's prejudice, he didn't know – continued to insist that there was more to see than what he was seeing. There was something about Merlin...

Merlin stopped and stared, his eyes going gold. His “seeing ahead” spell was short lived when he flinched, the gold fading, then he sucked in a sharp breath.

“We need to hurry. Patrols are closing in.”

They ran, the obstacles of the forest revealed to them in the growing light ofthe day, making those obstacles easy to dodge. 

“Please tell me we're almost there!” Arthur said between leaping over a mound and ducking a branch. They then skidded to a stop at the same time and looked up in dismay at a dead end. They had reached a cliff face, heavy with moss and hanging lichens and vines. Merlin scrabbled down the gentle slope of a ravine and pawed at the striated rock face, ripping away the vines. 

“It's here, I know it's here. Got it!”

Arthur hurried after him and smiled to see a dark gash in the rock. The entrance was low, which meant having to duck to get in, but making it hard to spot unless you already knew where to look. Merlin summoned his orb of light, smaller than last time, but that he released it letting it float on ahead probably had something to do with it. 

There was a shout, followed by another. Bullets scarred the rockface and caused vines and lichens to explode, forcing Arthur and Merlin to crouch. Arthur pulled his pistol from its holster at his waist.

“Go, Merlin, I have this!” Arthur said, even with the enemy not yet within sight to shoot. Arthur could see them darting through the trees, dodging from one tree to the next too quick for Arthur to properly aim.

“No, I've got this,” Merlin said. He held out a hand, said words and his eyes flashed. The roots of the surrounding trees shot up from the ground, throwing their assailants backward. 

“Go, Arthur, I'm right behind you!” Merlin said, giving Arthur's back a shove when Arthur hesitated. Arthur looked from Merlin to the trees, the roots ripping from the ground and knocking whoever came too close away like they were little more than annoying insects, then plunging back into the soil. 

“Arthur,” Merlin growled. “Go! I said I'm following.”

“You'd better,” Arthur growled back. He ducked into the cave, following the orb into the maze of jutting rocks. He scrabbled over boulders, scraping both his stomach and back. 

“Why your bloody magic couldn't have found us a bigger cave...” he grunted. “Do you think you could see ahead or is it too dark? Perhaps your orb--” Arthur, having cleared yet another boulder, stopped. The cave was silent – no scraping, no skinny magical idiot babbling a response, nothing.

“Merlin?” Arthur said. He looked back, the entrance of the cave a distant scar in the darkness, thin and dulled by the thick layer of plant life covering most of it.

“Merlin!” Arthur shouted. 

The orb flickered. Then it died. 

TBC...


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, make that eleven chapters? I don't know any more :( I was not having a good day when I numbered these chapters.

Arthur was wrong. Merlin could lie, especially when it mattered most. It wasn't anything he was proud of and, in fact, it hadn't been a complete lie – he had planned to follow Arthur, even if he wouldn't have been directly behind him. But commanding tree-roots to fling the enemy about wasn't exactly something you could leave to its own devices, not if Merlin wanted to _keep_ flinging the enemy about. But the problem with flinging anyone about using magicked tree roots was that it required so much focus and concentration that there was none left to spare. 

It also created quite a bit of noise, enough to attract more enemies. Enemies who, on seeing the chaos and who was causing it, sidled in at just the right angle and in just the right direction to remain well out of Merlin's sight until it was too late. 

At least that's what Merlin assumed had happened. The blow had come from behind, but that didn't necessarily mean there had been someone there. Because, now that Merlin was beginning to wake up a little more, his head pounding like a steam hammer but on its way to clearing, he could have sworn he'd had his back pressed to the upper lip of the cave entrance, making it impossible for anyone to sneak up on him. 

The cave!

Merlin forced his eyelids to part, an ordeal that sent the steam hammers into a rage when sunlight peirced his retina. But he needed to see, damn it. He needed to know. He forced his eyes open. It was just a crack, but it was enough. His eyeballs rolled in their sockets taking in booted feet on a wooden floor. He forced his head to turn, biting back the dire need to groan in pain. More booted feet, more floor.

No Arthur. 

Merlin released a long, tired breath. Good. Merlin's luck didn't despise him that much after all. But it still wasn't his biggest fan. Awake and with the knowledge that Arthur was _not_ a fellow captive out of the way, sensation rolled over Merlin like a wave. There was the headache, of course, although calling it an ache was just wrong – it was more like an explosion. Then there was the inability to move his arms, currently pulled behind his back and held in place with something so cold it was almost burning. 

Then there was his magic, currently sitting like a boulder in the center of his chest, as though it had been gathered and kneaded into the tightest, most dense ball possible and strapped behind his sternum. It was so... _heavy_ , and uncomfortable, verging on painful, like being bound so tightly that the blood flow was being restricted. 

There was also some sort of vibration buzzing unpleasantly along his body, and after a moment of trying to puzzle this out, Merlin finally came to realize that it was coming from the floor. He looked up, squinting at an enormous, round blob dark silver in color and tethered to several cables. 

A balloon, but far too small to be that of a derrigible. A skyboat, then; like little derrigibles used to ferry people and supplies to and from real derrigibles-- 

Merlin was ripped from his musings by a kick to the gut. Not hard, but enough to wind him and provoke his already sullen stomach to churn furiously.

“He's waking up,” someone said.

“Good. He needs to for questioning.”

“But what if he... you know... magicks us all off the bloody boat or something?”

“Oh, come off it, Jack. The shackles are sound, they were runed by Morgause herself and I can feel them working. You know, for someone always begging me to conjure up some bloody beer you don't seem to have all that much faith in my abilities.”

“He got the bloody roots to attack the boys, Nick. He had them all bloody unconscious by the time we got there. They're still unconscious! So excuse me for being a little paranoid.”

“He ain't the only magic user here, Jack.”

Jack snorted. “Roots, Nick. He got the roots to attack. You can't even whip up some bloody beer.”

“How about you both shut up. He's got the chains on and we'll be at the camp in a few. Then he's Morgause's problem.”

~oOo~

Arthur hated matches, he really did. The bloody little blighters seemed hell bent on burning fast enough to singe the tips of Arthur's fingers before he had a chance to blow them out. They also didn't last, and were about as useful in seeing in the dark as a lone firefly in a pit. Arthur lit them when he absolutely had to. The rest of the time, he felt his way through the cave, crawling like a wounded animal and skinning his finger tips and knuckles in the process.

Arthur also hated skinny idiot pilot-wizards with self-sacrificing natures that put them in a position of needing rescue, but it was a thought Arthur was attempting (poorly) to save for when he was out of this damnable cave. 

But the the matches did at least have one redeeming feature. By aiming them just right, they would flicker. And where there was flickering matches, there was a breeze, and where there was a breeze, there was an exit. 

Then Arthur saw the light. So bloody giddy with releif, Arthur began to scramble forward recklessly until the logical part of his brain finally shouted at him to realize that the light was a little too golden and flickering to be daylight. It also smelled strongly of smoke. 

“Damn it,” Arthur breathed. He crept less like a wounded animal and more like a stalking cat, crouching as he made his way from boulder to crevice to whatever else he could hide behind toward the light. The fire both lit his way and provided ample amounts of shadow for him to keep to, and soon Arthur was peering over a boulder at what looked to be a camp – a small fire, several blankets and several packs scattered all over a mostly flat section of floor, but not a soul to be seen. 

Something cold and sharp touched the back of Arthur's neck. He stilled, his body going stiff with muscles gone rigid in preparation for a fight.

“You'd best state your business, friend, and it had best not involve anything you'd regret.”

Arthur frowned. He knew that voice, most especially the way it automatically grated on his nerves.

“Gwaine?” He looked up at Gwaine's face half-lit by the fire. Gwaine gaped back.

“Arthur!” And suddenly the sword was gone, replaced by an arm that pulled Arthur to his feet so it could drape itself around his shoulders in a hardy embrace while Gwaine laughed. “Mate, what the hell! How did you get here!”

“How did I get here! How did you get here?” Arthur crowed, returning the embrace with several slaps to the spine. They pulled away to look each other over, Gwaine a little disheveled but no worse for wear and Arthur already knowing he looked like hell.

“You look like hell,” Gwaine chuckled. “Come on, let's get you to the fire and we can exchange tales while we wait for the others.”

The others made their return not long after Arthur had gotten a little water and some bread and cheese into him, the chill of the cave finally leaving as the fire warmed his bones. Lancelot, Morgana, Gwen – the entire Order was back together, a reunion that brought tears to Gwen's eyes and made Morgana rather flustered as she tried with little success not to give in to her emotions. 

They had been the last to leave, according to Gwaine, not launching until they had seen for themselves that Merlin had loaded Arthur into the dragon flyer and taken off. Lancelot had piloted, so had witnessed for himself the dragon flyer being forced away from the escape convoy to the other side of the mountain. The decision to land and try to find them had been mutual, but easier said than done in such a heavily wooded place. 

“Let's put it this way,” Lancelot said sheepishly. “It hadn't been one of my best landings.”

Their flyer wasn't going to be taking off any time soon. But they had found the cave, a way through into the neighboring valley, and had made themselves at home; Lancelot, Morgana and Gwen having carried the last of the supplies this very day and Gwaine staying behind to keep watch.

“As much as we longed to begin the search, it wasn't possible,” Lancelot explained, apologetic.

Arthur nodded. “I know. Believe me, I know. I wouldn't have made it as far as I had if it hadn't been for Merlin. Did you know he's a bloody sorcerer?”

Gwaine gaped, then laughed. “You serious? So I wasn't just seeing things when his eyes went all gold.”

“That explains how you managed to get through all the patrols,” Morgana said.

“I got through them,” Arthur said soberly. “He didn't. They took him and we need to get him back. There's no way I'm leaving him to those bastards.”

“If he's still alive,” Lancelot said grimly.

“He will be,” Gwen said. “They'll want to question him and that means we have time.” Then she pulled in a steadying breath. “But little time if we wish to spare him of their... techniques.”

Arthur, slumping, scraped a hand down his face. “But we don't even know where they took him.”

Gwaine clapped him on the shoulder, smiling. “That we do, mate. Gwen, show him what you found.”

Gwen lit a lantern then led the group back up the cave the way Arthur had come in. It wasn't a partciularly impressive cave in the light, the roof just high enough this deep in so that they didn't have to duck, and the obstacles had been rather misleading when Arthur had been guided only by touch – the boulders not all that big and mostly scattered. It also wasn't all that long, and the muted sliver of glow that was the entrance soon came into view.

Then Gwen turned off the main path and began ascending a pile of boulders leading to a ledge.

“I found this after a bit of exploring.” She looked back at Arthur with a girlish smile. “I was a bit bored the other night. And restless.” 

The others followed, up and up into a narrow tunnel leading outside onto an outrcropping of rock. It was wide enough to crouch comfortably, hiding them behind hanging vines and moss, and provided one hell of a view of the valley well over the trees.

Arthur blinked, first from the bright light, then from what the view had to show him.

The sky was littered with flyers and sky-boats like insects buzzing around a carcass. They were all over the valley, as far as the eye could see. But what interested Arthur the most was the other side of the valley where the flyers and sky boats seemed to concentrate, coming and going continually.

“Look up,” Lancelot said. 

Arthur did. His eyes narrowed. There were the derrigibles – not just the two but four in all - circling the area like buzzards. 

“Why do I get the feeling that all this activity isn't merely about finding me,” Arthur said.

“Because, as it turns out, not everything is about you after all,” Gwaine said with a rackish grin. But he quickly dropped it. “We're thinking they've been here the whole time, waiting for us.”

Arthur nodded. “My assumption as well. But that's quite a bit of activity for the sake of taking down one derrigible and to hunt down one man. That many derrigibles and sky boats – about the number you'd get for a very long and arduous expedition, wouldn't you say?”

“And they only used two derrigibles for the attack,” said Morgana. “Were this simply a matter of them being overly cautious they would have only needed three – two to attack, one to get away should the attack fail.”

“So they are indeed looking for something,” Gwen said, sounding releived. “Our intelligence wasn't wrong on that.” She sighed heavily. “It was merely used against us.”

“Well, it is Cenred,” said Gwaine. “He may be a bastard but he's a smart bastard, and he's got Morgause and that Trickler fellow on his side. They say Trickler's crazy like a fox.”

“So we know where they are and that they're indeed looking for this Emrys,” Arthur cut in. “Fine. How do we use this information to our advantage. Because unless we can find a cave that will take us to the other side of the valley then we're not going to be able to reach the other side without getting caught.”

“Leave that to me,” Gwaine said wearing another of his annoying grins. 

Arthur groaned. “Do I have to?”

Gwaine clapped him on the back. “Yep.”

~oOo~

Arthur hated Gwaine's plans as much as he hated matches, because for some reason – and Arthur swore Gwaine did this purpose – his plans always involved one of three outcomes: them getting drunk, them somehow ending up naked (of which Arthur still couldn't figure how that always managed to happen) or them getting captured.

This time, however, they'd skipped the plotting, sneaking and battling it out and went straight on with the capturing. But at least it was just he and Gwaine sauntering out of the cave, Gwaine making as much racket as he could while the others hung back, out of sight and waiting. A patrol of four soon found the two of them. A flare was set off breaking through the canopy and flickering high in the sky before burning out as it descended. It was a moment before the flare was answered, with Arthur and Gwaine forced to endure their knees digging into the ground and their hands on their heads making their arms go numb. 

A sky boat soon arrived, a small one with a three man crew. It lowered just over the tree line and dropped its ladder. Arthur and Gwaine were the first to ascend. No funny business, they were told.

The funny business erupted immediately the moment they were on board. Lancelot, Gwen and Morgana burst onto the scene, firing their pistols. Free from their guard, Arthur and Gwaine took the crew of the boat in hand to hand comabt, flipping them over the sides. The boat was theirs in what felt like only a matter of seconds.

“Now for the not-so-fun-part,” Gwaine said. They descended the flyer, and once on the ground, he began stripping out of his clothes. Arthur made a mental note to throttle him when this mess was over. 

TBC...


	8. Chapter 8

Merlin was getting the sneaking suspicion that the enemy's current location hadn't been entirely about setting a trap. The crawling journey from one side of the valley to the other gave Merlin time to assess the situation, specifically the four derrigibles hovering overhead and the contstant comings and goings of numerous skyboats. 

Then his current mode of transporation eased itself down into a clearing at the foot of a very weathered mountain, and his suspicions were confrimed. Now that he was awake, Merlin had been allowed to sit up on one of the skyboat's many benches – mostly for the sake of his captor's being able to keep a better eye on him than for comfort – and Merlin was able to see over the side of the rail. 

Whatever these people were up to, it involved one hell of an effort. The camp below was massive, a mess of tents, camp fires and stacks of crates full of supplies. The real point of interest, however, was what appeared to be some sort of mining operation, maybe an excavation – men chipping at a cliff face with picks and tossing chunks of stones into waiting wagons to be hauled away. The work stretched the length of the cliff as far as the eye could see in either direction, but the focus mainly along the base. 

Then the skyboat's tethers were tossed over the side, and the camp's activities became the least of Merlin's worries. The boat was hauled all the way to the ground, allowing the crew to dump their prize – namely Merlin – over the side without having to unchain him to use the ladder. Merlin landed on his side on the ground, hard, jarring his shoulder and hip painfully. They were within the camp from what he could see, men gathering slowly and curiously but making sure not to get too close to him.

“Someone get Lord Cenred and the Lady Morgause!” someone called. “Tell them we've got ourselves a little prize.” 

Men chuckled, and someone booted Merlin in the back. Merlin allowed himself a quick grimace but otherwise kept his face neutral, which was no easy feat. His heart was pounding fit to race up his throat and out his mouth, and he had to lock his muscles to diminish his trembling to mild vibrations. Never had he been more terrified in his life, not when the men at the hangars were in the mood to give him grief, not even when Arthur had attempted to pound him into the ground for standing up to him. But just because he was scared didn't mean he had to show it, if he could help it. 

Then the crowd parted enough for three people to make their way through – one a man with a sharp face and a slick, greasy smile, dressed like a gentlmen in a light gray suit and red silk cravat. Another a spidery little bug-eyed man that made Merlin think of a undertaker having lost his wits, complete with a dark coat that had seen better days and a dusty top hat. Finally, there was the woman, blond hair, beautiful, and like a glacier personified. She was dressed in black trousers and a white button shirt, and one look at her frosty blue eyes sent waves of cold down Merlin's spine. She looked down at Merlin and frowned severly.

“You said you found us a prize,” she said. “Not a piece of garbage.”

Maybe it was foolishness, or maybe Merlin's inablity to grow a thick skin when it came to certain insults, but for a moment he forgot his fear and glared at the woman. It made the slick man laugh.

“He's got spirit for a peice of garbage, Morgause,” the man said.

“He's a mechanic and no use to us unless he can tell us where the regent is, Cenred,” the woman snarled.

One of the men who had been in the sky boat stepped forward, his back rigid enough to snap. “He was found within the valley, my lady, and as you know only one flyer was spotted making for this area. He also used magic.”

That made both of Morgause's pale eyebrows climb high up her smooth forehead. “Magic, you say? Are you sure?” She toed Merlin in the chest with her booted foot. “Perhaps my eyes decieve me but he certainly doesn't look to be a sorcerer.”

“Believe me, ma'am, he is. I arrived in time to see him dispatch a patrol using the very trees. I had to spell a rock to fly into his head to stop him. It could be a disguise, my lady.”

“True,” the woman said. “Are you, boy? In disguise? Tell me, Trickler. What threat does this pup pose to us?”

The spidery man shuffled forward smiling a smile that made Merlin's flesh want to crawl off his bones. The man reached for him, chuckling, and Merlin tried to shuffle away when a boot pressed against his back, stopping him. But Trickler didn't touch him, thank goodness, merely passed his hands over Merlin's body with only an inch of space in between.

Trickler sucked in a breath. “Goodness but you are a talented one. The power just vibrates from him, Miss Morgause. It takes years of deep study and practice to ooze such ability. He _must_ be in disguise.”

Trickler's laughter turned breathy and insane, and he straightened, practically humming with excitement as he wrung his dirty hands together. “Oh, can we keep him, Miss Morgause, can we? I will break him for you and he will make such a wonderful pet.”

Morgause looked at him sharply. Trickler shrank back, but continued on undeterred. “Do not doubt me now, mistress. Have I been nothing but loyal in gifting you with sorcerers? And the younger ones are so easy to train. I will have him docile as a lamb before the day is done. We could use such talent.”

“I'm more interested in what he knows of the regent,” Morgause said.

Trickler scoffed. “Oh, mistress, that is nothing for me. You know this.”

“I do,” Morgause said coolly. “Fine, do what you will with him. If he survives then you have my permission to attempt to... _coerce_ him into our ranks. But I want the regent more than I want another sorcerer. Do not hold back.”

Trickler laughed, clapping his hands together spamodically. “Oh, thank you, mistress, thank you. I do love breaking the little sorcerers.”

Merlin's stomach clenched, his heart seeming to take refuge behind it. The crowd, grimacing, hurried away as though anxious to escape whatever was to come next – except for three, two men and a woman, their faces thin and pale and their eyes near-empty save for a never-ending terror as though their torment continued. 

Merlin could sense their magic even from where he lay.

“Now, then,” Trickler said, cracking his knuckles. He smiled showing his dirty teeth. “Shall we begin?” He shook out his hand, then lightly swatted it as though batting away a fly.

Merlin's head snapped to one side, his face throbbing mercilessly like he'd been struck by a metal gauntlet. Something warm and metallic filled Merlin's mouth. When he spit, he balked to see a wad of blood splatter onto the ground. 

Trickler let loose a high pitched and giddy laugh. “Splendid, just splendid!” His hand shot forward, reaching out with his fingers curled like claws. The fingers squeezed nothing.

Merlin found himself unable to breathe, his chest constricting, and constricting, and constricting, his ribs creaking as they pressed in on his lungs. His chest burned, his lungs burned, his body screamed for air and black motes pulsed in his eyes. Trickler's finger opened and air rushed into Merlin's throat, filling his desperate lungs.

The man's fingers squeezed. The air stopped. Merlin arched back trying to loosen whatever it was stopping his breaths and crushing his chest. There followed a snap, then another, loud enough for both Trickler and Merlin to hear, and white-hot agony. Trickler released his hold.

Merlin screamed.

Trickler laughed.

~oOo~

“Gah, this boat is bloody slow!” Gwaine snarled. “And drives like a bloody drunken ox.”

“It can drive like a drunken elephant for all I care as long as we get to where we need to,” Arthur said. He tugged at the enemy jacket a little too tight about the shoulders. On the plus side, at least the trousers fit. Too bad Morgana couldn't say the same – she was practically swimming in her uniform and kept having to tug the trousers up. Gwen had been a bit quicker about getting to the smallest of the enemy, though her clothes weren't exactly a perfect fit, either.

“Preferably before nightfall,” Lancelot said, glancing up at the sky nervously. “We're losing daylight.”

“Good,” Arthur said. “We can use the dark to our advantage.” He had stopped his adjusting, ignoring the uncofortable tightness of the clothes in favor of staring at the way ahead. They were closer, now, the skyboats no longer dots in the distance but detailed. The plan was to land somewhere outside the location and go from there with the hope that the enemy were not so close a knit-group as to recognize a strange face among their ranks. 

“Do you think...” Gwaine said. He faltered, took a breath and tried again. “Do you think that... they're questioning him?”

“Probably,” Arthur said darkly. It surprised him how sick the thought of it made him. He was supposed to hate Merlin, but the image of that skinny, bumbling idiot – the same idiot who had let himself get captured saving Arthur – being tortured for information...

Arthur swallowed thickly. That idiot had saved his life. Like hell Arthur was going to leave him to suffer at the hands of those bastards. 

A hand on Arthur's shoulder thankfully pulled him from his dark thoughts. He looked down at Gwen, who smiled back up at him.

“We'll get him back,” she said.

Arthur nodded, resolute.

~oOo~

Merlin was shaking, he hurt so much. His face, chest, neck, back, arm. Trickler hadn't stopped with invisible punches to the face and breaking two of Merlin's ribs. He had done something that made Merlin feel as though his spine were being tied into knots, his neck bent near to breaking, his wrist twisted violently, and his organs squished. Then Trickler's fingers squeezed air, and Merlin's heart thrashed like a bird being crushed. When Trickler released, Merlin gasped out a sob, his heart beating frantically in his chest, desperate to get his blood moving again.

“Oh, you are a resilient little thing,” Trickler sneered. “Really, now, why such stubborness? Is the regent really that worth it? Do you not think that where ever he is hiding he would have moved on by now? Of course he has moved on, so there's no need for this resolve. Go on, tell me where he is and I promise, no more pain.”

Merlin coughed, and his sobbing became laughter. “Yeah, no more pain. What was that a while back about breaking me to be some kind of pet? Why do I get the feeling that's going to involve twice the pain as now?”

Trickler looked thoughtful for a moment, then shrugged. “I suppose you have a point. Breaking a mind does take it's sweet time, but it is rather enjoyable, I must say.” He squeezed, and Merlin's broken ribs ground together. “And I'm oh so very good about inflicting it without it resulting in death. Honestly, I could do this all day.”

Trickler released, and Merlin gasped and choked, curling into himself. The temptation to say something, anything, to make the pain stop even if it was only for a moment crested like a massive wave in Merlin's heart. A lie, tell him a lie, throw him off the scent. But the pain wouldn't let him think of anything but the cave.

Maybe Trickler was right. Maybe Arthur had moved on.

No, he wouldn't have, not with the patrols out there. He would still be hiding, still vulnerable.

Trickler's fingers twitched. Merlin's back arched, his spine bending against his will nearly to the snapping point, then released. Merlin groaned breathing hard and fast. 

He wouldn't talk. He wouldn't, he wouldn't, he wouldn't...

Trickler's fingers squeezed and Merlin couldn't breathe.

Then he released, far sooner than last time. The blood roared through Merlin's ears and he sucked in greedy-lungfuls, making him momentarily deaf. But then the roaring cleared just enough for him to realize that the sound hadn't been entirely the product of his rushing blood. There was a commotion. Men were shouting, the shout spreading as people ran to and fro, riding high on excitement.

“Mister Trickler! We found something Mr. Trickler!” someone said, but it was an excitement Trickler didn't share, having to cease his torments. He grumbled, rolled his eyes, then gestured sharply at Merlin.

“Bring the brat!”

Two men hauled Merlin by his arms to his uncooperative feet, dragging him along behind the muttering, stomping Trickler. Merlin spat a wad of blood from his mouth onto the ground. More blood trickled from his nose, a cut over his eye and another on his cheek. He was carried for what felt like forever along the cliffside until they came to a collection of boulders and talls rocks leaing against eachother. A narrow pathway had been chipped clear, leading to a bare section of cliff. 

“Here, Mr. Trickler,” said one of the men. With the day aging toward evening and the remaining light blocked by the boulders, serveral lanterns had to be held close to the rock face. Merlin forced his head to raise on his aching neck. Being close – right behind Trickler and a little to the right – he squinted at what looked to be a weathered but still intact carving in the rock, a circle with some sort of Celtic knot design in the center. 

It was like a lever had been flipped, Trickler's moodiness gone in a heartbeat, replaced by an insane giddiness that had his hands a blur of clapping. 

“Yes, yes, yes! At last! This is it! Someone go get the lady and Cenred. Tell them I am working to open the door even as we speak. Now where are those bloody papers...” Trickler patted himself down until producing said papers from a pocket within his dusty jacket. He removed them with a flourish and an “ah-ha!” then proceeded to scan them. Satisfied with his scanning, he placed a hand over the symbol and began muttering ancient-sounding words. 

Whatever Trickler was up to, it was taking its sweet time and not meant to. He spoke the words over and over, louder and louder, his eyes flashing gold each time, but nothing happened. He was also gaining a bit of an audience as men gathered looking both nervous and hopeful. Then the men parted like the Red Sea allowing Morgause and Cenred to squeeze through.

“What is taking so long?” she demanded. “If this is indeed the door then why isn't it open?”

“I am trying, my lady,” Trickler growled. He spoke the words again, practically snarling them. Still nothing happened.

“Move,” Morgause snapped. She squeezed through to the front. After shoving Trickler back, she slapped her hand over the symbol and hissed the words Trickler had been speaking only moments ago. 

Still nothing. Morgause stepped back, her expression thunderous as she rounded on Trickler.

“This isn't the door. You have wasted our time, Trickler!”

Trickler cringed back. “It has to be!” he whined. “It's the location, it's the mountain and there has been no other symbols.” He flipped through his collection of papers fratnically. “It's this bloody research, mistress. It is all written in riddles. See, here – only he who is not searching finds what he does not seek. What – what does that even mean?”

“It means,” Morgause sneered, “That the entrance is not ours to open.” She glanced around until her cool gaze landed on Merlin. The woman wasn't just an iceburg, she was also a snake. She struck fast, grabbing Merlin's twisted wrist and pulling him forward, hard. He cried out. She couldn't care less.

“Don't think to try anything. I will know it and you will be dead before you can utter a single syllable against me,” she said. She muttered a word, her eyes flashed, and the manacle on Merlin's wrist fell away. She then pushed Merlin's palm against the symbol. “Trickler, the words.”

Trickler held a sheet of paper in front of Merlin.

“Speak them,” Morgause hissed. 

Merlin glared at her. “No.”

Morgause's eyes narrowed. “Trickler?”

Trickler's hand shot out, squeezed air, and Merlin's ribs bent and groaned until he screamed.

“Speak them!” Morgause snarled, squeezing his wrist.

The pain cut through Merlin's sanity, shredding it until all he knew was agony and the need to make it stop. 

He shouted the words on the paper.

The sigil shimmered a faint gold. There followed a deep, throaty rumble and then a section of rock face slid away revealing a dark, endless tunnel. Morgause smiled like a fox in the hen house.

“Well done,” she purred. She held out a hand that someone slapped the manacle in, then bound Merlin's wrist. Merlin's magic retreated to his center like a rabbit to its hole.

“Gather lamps and weapons,” Morgause called. She released Merlin's wrist with a rough push, sending more pain skittering up his arm to his spine. “We proceed immediately.” 

TBC...


	9. Chapter 9

The tunnel Merlin had Arthur hide in had been far more impressive than the one he was being herded through. But then that cave had been naturally made, with flecks of quartz and crystal, and that had only been seen at a glimpse before Merlin had been occupied with ordering tree roots to thrash the enemy about. This cave was obviously mand-made, chipped away for conveniance more than beauty. It took them deep into the mountain, an endless tube of dark and glistening rock, its turns gentle and barely noticeable, and its depth seemingly endless.

Merlin was toward the front, close to Morgause, Cenred, Trickler and their entorage of body guards, as though Merlin really were the prize despite what Morgause had said. No doubt it was to keep him on hand should any more magical doors prove a nuisance. Merlin wasn't sure why one of Morgause's pet sorcerers couldn't have done it, but, then, Morgause wasn't exactly a patient woman, and Merlin had been right there. Merlin also had the sinking feeling that a broken sorcerer was a mostly useless sorcerer, there to be a dog's body and a distraction during a fight, and not much else. 

Merlin had never seen eyes so lifeless, so devoid of hope. It had made him feel more sorry for them than himself. 

Until he remembered he was about to join them. 

Merlin was vaguely aware of the shift in gravity that told them they were descending. The air grew cooler with a wet chill that clung to the skin. It even smelled like wet rock, with just a hint of something that Merlin could only describe as almost chemical. It also didn't matter how many lamps and torches were lit, the darkness refused to fully retreat, pressing against them like an army going in for the kill.

Then the tunnel expanded. It was so sudden, going from dark tightness to what felt like an endless chasm that Merlin's torture-addled brain couldn't quite cope with it and he stumbled. One guard grabbed him, keeping him upright, while the other guard gave him a rough shove for being an inconvenience. 

While the tunnel had been man-made, the cavern wasn't save for the narrow path winding through a forest of stalagmites rising like teeth and stalagtites like great pale pillars shimmering wetly in the torch light. But while the cavern was Cathedral high, it was incredibly short in length. The path curved gradually around a white pillar of rock and ended at what had to be the most massive doors Merlin had ever seen. They were so high, so wide, that he couldn't even begin to put a measurment to them. They were doors of a make that you only had to look at them to know that they were imprenetrable. Merlin assumed they were iron, and yet they were remarkably intact for as ancient as they seemed, with only a few smatterings of rust and corrosion that did nothing against their intimidating presence. 

It took Merlin a moment to realize that the doors had no handles – no knobs, no rings, nothing that would allow the doors to be opened on the outside. Merlin hoped this meant there would be no going any further, but he already knew it was a vain hope. Morgause stepped forward while the others hung back, and with a word, the doors moaned mournfully open. 

Damn. 

But disappointement was soon smothered by an ocean of wonder. Light poured from the massive entryway so golden and bright that for a moment Merlin wondered if they were on the steps of Heaven. It took time for his eyes to adjust, and what he saw beyond made Merlin nearly forget his current predicament. 

He didn't have the words for what it was. It was a city, obviously. It was a cavern, also obvious. It was also a work of impossible, brilliant, mad genius, the buildings carved lovingly from the very rock itself and sculpted with precision and care. Light like a weak sun poured from a ceiling so high up it was barely visible, but amplified all throughout the chamber by crystals – thousands upon thousands of faceted crystals reflecting the glow again and again until it filled the entire endless expanse. The rock and smooth walls of the buildings were not gray and dull but striations of red, brown, cream, quartz, coal, some with veins of gold and others glittering with what might be diamond. And the artistry – lords, how did Merlin even begin to describe the artistry, the base relief carvings and statues of men, women and animals so life-like in their detail that he half expected them to step from their niches and plinths. They depicted scenes of everyday life, of ancient battles and legends long forgotten. There were orante fountains, balcony railings painstakingly detailed, even what remained of the wooden doorways told a story of beauty over function. Lords, even the streets had been shaped to cobbled perfection. And everything seemed to glow with that reflected light.

Then Merlin realized how quiet it was. It was wrong, that quiet, Merlin wasn't sure why. Of course it would be quiet, not being inhabited. But it was all so... _perfect_ , so bright, as though its construction had been completed only yesterday. As though as soon as it had been built, the people had left. That's what bothered Merlin about it. A place this beautiful, this wonderful, shouldn't be so silent, and it made him sad. 

Then they were moving forward, the tap of so many footfalls doing little against the all-encompassing quiet. Merlin felt small in this place, like a mouse in a mansion, a trespasser in what had been meant to remain untouched, or a heretic in a place of holiness. Most of the rest of the company must have been feeling the same, their footfalls timid, less like bulls in a shop and more like children trying to tip-toe past their parents' bedroom. They followed the cobbled road deeper into the city, passing more statues and more beautiful buildings. 

That's when Merlin heard it – a sound like a bellows slowly pumping deep and throaty. A quick glance around showed Merlin men gripping the handles of their pistols, bludgeons or whatever other weapons they had on hand.

“Look alive,” said Cenred. “We're about to encounter the impossible, gents, but anyone who reacts will find himself a pile of broken bones before you can blink.”

Merlin frowned and gulped, his already racing heart picking up speed. The rushing of the bellows was getting closer, louder. The road dropped gently, taking them to what looked to be the city's square. More like a circle, in point of fact, its surface smooth, cobble free and designed in a way to look like a compass using stones of various shades. 

In the very center of the compass was a ring, massive, thick and still polished and shining as the day when it had been made, whenever that was. There was a chain attached to it, as massive as the ring and just as polished. It was draped across the ground and up over a building, vanishing on the other side.

“Spread out,” Cenred said when they had reached the center. It was massive, as big as the courtyard of the Imperial Palace that Merlin had flown over on his way to his new life. A life that felt a million miles away, now, and one he doubted with an already sunken heart that he was ever going to see again. 

The men spread out as commanded while staying well away from the ring and the chain. Merlin was hauled to one side, only a few feet away from where Morgause, Cenred, Trickler and a handful of men stood, where the street ended and the circle began. Morgause stepped forward looking tall and regal as a queen.

“We have come!” she said. Her voice was like a gunshot richocheting harshly throughout the cavern. “We have come in search of the Emrys and we will not depart until it is found! Show yourself, Kilgarrah, the last of the Great Ones! Show yourself or we will hunt you down!”

The deafening bellows stopped. A new sound followed, something like scraping, shifting. The chain rattled.

Deep, throaty laughter rumbled, vibrating Merlin to his bones.

“Bold words, Sorceress, for one so puny.”

Morgause glowered. “Bold words for one weakened by chains of magic.”

“Weak? I think not,” rumbled the voice indifferently. 

A great, gold body then shot up quick as an arrow outfrom behind a domed tower. The men gasped, cried out, some unholstering pistols and aiming until Cenred snarled at them to put them away. The great gold beast circled once over head, and when it landed the tremors it caused seemed to shake Merlin to his very soul. 

The dragon lifted its great horned head, its scales glittering as bright as the metal of Merlin's flyer. It blinked amber eyes at the armed and frightened people around it, and smiled.

“The chain binds me to this place,” it said. “But do not be fool enough to think it makes me weak. I would think it wise to show more respect, Lady Morgause, for what you seek is most precious indeed. Precious, and powerful.”

The large amber eyes flitted to Merlin, only for a second, but within that second they narrowed. Merlin couldn't help shrinking back just a little. The dragon did not look happy. Then those eyes turned back to Morgause, and the smile returned. 

“I give respect when it is earned,” Morgause said. “I know of you, Kilgarrah, last of the Great Dragons. The legends say you are rather fond of riddles, are you not?”

The dragon shrugged a shoulder. “It is an excellent means by which to pass the time.”

“Time we don't have,” Morgause said. “Tell us what we wish to know – the location of the Emrys – and we will make it worth your while. Don't, and I promise we will make you regret it.”

Kiglarrah snorted. “I highly doubt that, puny sorceress.” Then he sighed a sigh like distant thunder. “You should have asked for treasure. That I would have given you merely for the sake of getting you to leave me alone. For what you ask for is no mere trinket.” The ancient, piercing eyes narrowed once more. “If placed in the wrong hands, it could be a means of great devistation. You, Morgause, are those hands.”

“Tell us,” Morgause said, taking a step forward. “And we will release you.”

Kilgarrah's eyes rounded over, but Merlin could have sworn out of amusement more than surprise.

“Will you? Well, that would change things, had such promises not been made before.”

“Do I look as though I care what havoc you will wreak on the world if freed?” Morgause said.

“Oh, it is not the prevention of destruction that I am here. I am merely...” his lips twisted in disgust. “The watch dog, you may say.” 

The dragon lifted his head, the smile faltering, his expression turning rueful. “This city is the birthplace of magic, you see. And its former inhabitants had been the keepers of its secrets. But they were a peaceful people, and as admirable as it was, it became their downfall. It is most ironic, really. The city was not besieged for its secrets, but to destroy its secrets. There came a time when magic was used for ill, where the ambitious and greedy seemed to outnumber the good, razing kingdoms to the ground for selfish purposes. Man came to so fear magic that they stormed to the very birthplace itself, hoping to destroy it. A pointless endeavor. While they managed to chase the inhabitants from their home, they could not bring themselves to destroy it.”

Kilgarrah chuffed. “Nor would I let them. But powerful as I am, the armies of the kings were too many. They brought me down, and used magic chains to bind me. I still find that rather humorous to this day – using magic to defeat magic. But it was the only way. Even the kings realized this. It is why they could not destroy this place, I beleive. Or part of the reason. They realized that to stop magic, they needed magic. So why destroy it when you can control it? And so they hid this city so none could come here and use it against non-magic kind, and imprisoned me to be its guardian.”

He stared down at Morgause. “And yet here you stand, demanding those secrets I had sworn to protect long before man chained me to this place.”

“Is your freedom not worth the price?” Morgause said.

Kilgarrah's gaze slid to and from Merlin. “Allow me to think on it,” he said. “In the meantime, I will tell you this much, if only for some peace and quiet while I ponder the matter. What you seek is indeed here, closer than you will ever realize. Should you find it, it is yours. I will speak no more on the matter.” The dragon spread his ancient wings, and with a few flaps he was airborne, returning to whatever was his nest hidden behind the many buildings.

Morgause was as still as a statue, but her fists white, she was clenching them so hard. 

“You heard the beast,” she called. “It's here. Spread out and search!”

The men scrambled to do as told, vanishing up the many streets and within the many buildings. Morgause turned and rejoined Cenred and Trickler, but she glanced Merlin's way. 

“Put him in one of the buildings and keep him there,” she said. 

Merlin was half-dragged, half-marched to a small structure like a little shop nestled between two larger buildings. It was a single room with only four windows and not a single lick of furniture, if any of the buildings still had furniture. He was tossed roughly inside and left sprawled on the hard stone floor, the pain of his injuries pulsing furiously through him. He gritted his teeth against the agony while curling up to wait for it to ebb. His two gaurds stationed themselves on either side of the door, watching him with glowering expressions. 

Merlin almost laughed. Did they honestly think he would try something? Merlin shivered, the pain still coursing through him, the thought of Trickler coming back to break him sending chill after chill down his back. He was exahusted, terrified, shaking from pain, shaking from fear, and he thought he was going to be sick. He also had no idea what the hell he was going to do. 

_Merlin._

Merlin flinched and groaned miserably, “What?”

“Shut up,” one of his guards snarled.

_Do not speak with your voice, Merlin._

Merlin flinched harder. The voice hadn't been said out loud, it was in his head, and it sounded remarkably like the dragon.

_Do not fear, young warlock. It is I you are indeed hearing. Say nothing with your mouth, only your thoughts._

_What do you want?_ Merlin thought, and even in his mind his voice trembled.

_I wish to warn you. Morgause cannot be allowed to find the Emrys. I meant it when I said it would cause great devistation in the wrong hands. Magic had suffered for so long after the kings had attempted to purge it. It has not been long since man began to trust it once more, and you more than anyone know well of how tentative that trust can be. For Morgause to have control of such power will mean not only the loss of the world as you know it, but the return of the hatred toward magic. It will mean death and persecution on both ends until no one will remember what it was like not to live in fear. This cannot happen, little warlock._

_And what am I to do about it? I'm not exactly in a position to do much of anything if you haven't noticed. I don't even know what the bloody Emrys is!_

The dragon chuckled. _Have hope, young warlock. You do not need to know. Your task, in fact, is quite a simple one, if you think about it._

 _Yeah? And what is my task?_ Merlin asked bitterly.

Kilgarrah said, sounding mildly amused, _To escape._

Merlin balked. _Escape? I can barely move! How the hell do I escape?_

The light through the door was briefly blocked when one of Morgause's men arrived, a dark sillouette in the entry. He tapped one of the guards on the shoulder.

“Morgause needs you two to help with the search,” he said, his voice gravelly. “Don't worry, I'll watch this one.”

Guard one snorted. “Yeah, right. Not unless she tells us herself. You know how she is when it comes to her orders. We ain't going nowhere.”

The man sighed. “You know, I really hoped it wouldn't come to this.” He then knocked one out when his elbow cracked into his face. Guard two had no time to react when another man crept up behind him and clocked him over the head with the butt of a pistol. The first man then advanced on Merlin, causing Merlin to shrink back instinctually.

“Merlin, mate,” said a voice no longer gravelly but glorious in its familiarity. Merlin looked up at the man now kneeling next to him, and beamed.

“Gwaine!”

Gwaine grinned back. “The one and only.”

Another man knelt next to him – Lancelot. 

“You look like hell, Merlin,” Lancelot said, causing Gwaine to drop his smile. “Gwaine, get the chains off,” he said, then hurried to the door, peering out. Gwaine, in the meantime, pulled a small case from his pocket. He opened it to reveal a set of picks.

“Gwaine, the chains, they're magical. You might need the key--” Merlin said.

Gwaine's grin returned. “Merlin, I know a few things about magical chains, believe me.” He pulled out a set of silver pickes etched with tiny runes. “And opening yours will be like cutting butter.”

Three more entered the tiny room, practically crowding it – Morgana and Gwen looking ridiculously small in the large uniforms. 

And Arthur, looking uncomfortable in his smaller clothes. 

“If we're going to move we need to move now,” Arthur said. “The courtayrd's nearly empty and Morgause and Cenred are a little too busy growling at each other to take much notice of us. Apparently Cenred wants to bully the dragon some more.” He looked at Merlin, his face expressionless but his throat undulating in a tight swallow. “Merlin.”

Merlin's smile grew. “Arthur.”

The chains fell away and Merlin nearly groaned with relief as his magic filled every corner of him. But then Gwaine tried to help him up. Pain ripped through Merlin and he snapped his mouth shut in time to turn his cry of pain into a muffled whimper. 

“Lords, what did they do to you?” Gwaine said grimly, getting Merlin to lean most of his weight against him. 

“Nothing that resulted in anything you need to worry about,” Merlin said.

“You mean other than you keeling over at any time?” Arthur said darkly. “Merlin, you look half dead.”

“Trickler's work, isn't it?” Gwen said, paling. “He's... he's known to be very good at that.”

“Then Trickler's a dead man,” Gwaine growled.

“Some other time,” Arthur said, glancing out the window. “We're outnumbered and Merlin's in no condition to put up a fight if worse comes to worse. We need to leave as quietly and quickly as possible.”

“What of the Emrys?” Morgana said. “We can't leave them to find it.”

“They won't,” Merlin said. Everyone looked at him. 

“How do you know?” Arthur demanded.

Merlin swallowed tensely, thinking fast as to how to explain a telepathic conversation with a dragon without sounding insane. 

What he settled for was, “It's a long story that I'll tell you when we get out of here. Just trust me on this, please. As long as we get out of here then we won't have to worry.”

Arthur stared at Merlin long and hard. “You don't know that.”

“I do, actually,” Merlin said, even though he didn't quite believe it himself. But if the dragon hadn't cared whether the Emrys was found or not, then he would have told Morgause it's location in exchange for his freedom. But he hadn't, and that more than anything told Merlin that the dragon was being nothing but honest, if obnoxiously cryptic. 

“It doesn't matter,” Lancelot said. “You said it yourself, Arthur. We're outnumbered. We can't hope to find the Emrys before Morgause without getting caught. We need to leave, come back with reinforcements. I doubt they're going to find the Emrys any time soon, anyway.”

“Yeah, it wasn't like that dragon was particularly eager to give it up,” said Gwaine. “I think it's just playing with them.”

“It is,” Merlin said. “Trust me, it is.”

“Fine, then,” Arthur said with a curt nod. “Lancelot, is the way clear?”

“Barely,” said Lancelot. “But if we were to move quickly--”

Gwaine cut in. “I opt for the back windows. They're big enough. Lance, help me out, here, will you?”

The windows were indeed big enough to squeeze through, Lancelot going first out one window to help Gwaine and Arthur get Merlin through the other while Gwen and Morgana kept watch. It was a lesson in agony, Merlin skinny enough to slip easily through but feeling as though his broken bones were being crushed. He had to press his hand to his mouth to keep himself from crying out. Once through, the rest followed after, crouching low in the shadow of the building. 

They kept to the backs of the buildings, the Order surrounding Merlin to keep him as inconspicuous as possible as they made their way back up the street toward the entrance. Merlin wasn't sure how far they had gone, his aches and pains making him feel as if he had been walking forever, when a shrill whistle peirced the air three times. Shouting immediately followed. 

“Well, there goes our quiet exit,” Gwaine said through gritted teeth. He grabbed Merlin's arm, pulled it across his shoulders and kept him upright when they broke into a run. They were close enough to see the doors looming large between the buildings, but not close enough to get through when orders ehcoed for the doors to be shut and shut, now. Next to the doors was a lever, so big it took eight men to pull it. Chains rattled, gears ground and the doors eased shut with a hollow, ominous thud.

“Damn it, back, back, back!” Arthur hissed. 

They hurried back the way they had come. Footfalls clattered up the road, forcing them to crouch within the shadows of a patio of what might have once been a mansion. 

“Wonderful. Now what?” Morgana said hotly.

“There must be another way out,” Arthur said, glancing around. “The dragon said the people who lived here were chased off after being beseiged, not killed. They must have escaped through some secret way.”

“Lovely thought but something tells me we'd find the Emrys before we found this secret way,” said Gwaine.

Merlin shook his head. “No. I know how to find it.”

Arthur arched an eyebrow at him. “Don't tell me you're psychic as well.”

Merlin smiled. “That would come in handy. Sorry, no. I don't need to be, because there's someone here who knows this place like the back of their... er... claw.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and groaned. “You mean the dragon.”

Merlin nodded. “I mean the dragon. We need to get to him. I think I might have a plan.”

“You _think_?” Arthur said, frowning.

Merlin smiled sheepishly. “Um, yeah, but... you might not like it.”

Gwaine chuckled. “My kind of plan. Let's go, then.”

TBC...


	10. Chapter 10

The city was a maze, full of twists, turns, plenty of shadows, and Arthur loved it. What he didn't love was how long it was taking to get around the city to the bloody dragon. They cut through the buildings themselves, going as straight as they could, which wasn't very straight at all. Lancelot and Morgana had the rear, Arthur and Gwen the lead, and Gwaine supporting Merlin in between. The boy was trying to be remarkably resilient, his face set with determination but also hard with pain. Whatever Trickler had done, he hadn't held back. Merlin's face was splashed with so much bruising, scrapes, cuts and dried blood that he was nearly unrecognizable, and that was only what could be seen on the surface. The way he cradled his chest, the careful way he held his arm while doing so and his hunched posture told a much darker story.

It made Arthur's insides boil – with anger, with guilt, with the need to make sure Morgause, Cenred and Trickler were no longer in a position to do to anyone else what they did to Merlin. Merlin wasn't even a soldier, for goodness sake. He was a mechanic, a wizard, skinny and idiotic even if he was also brave. This shouldn't have happened to him. This shouldn't happen to anyone. 

Their group cut through what might have been someone's house and rushed through the back door on the other side. A squad of seven men spotted them and charged toward them. Arthur unsheathed his sword, not wanting to use pistols and alert the rest of the enemy to their whereabouts. But the squad wasn't five feet away when they suddenly flew back, landing hard enough to be knocked unconscious. Arthur looked back at Merlin, the boy's bruised hand still raised, and gave him a nod of approval.

Gwaine chuckled. “Oh, I like you even more, mate.”

They hurried on, flitting from shadow to house, crouching and ducking like thieves. And while Arthur knew the direction they needed to go, he had no idea where their exact location was, and his heart raced even faster when he began to wonder if they had missed it.

“In there!” Merlin gasped, having been hoisted higher against Gwaine when the boy began to flag. Arthur didn't waste time asking how Merlin knew – he could hear a patrol heading their way. They ducked through the door of a tall, square structure.

“Up the stairs. To the roof,” Merlin said. They did as told, climbing three flights of steps and then a fourth leading to a trap door. Arthur was the first one out, and he nearly stumbled back through when he found himself face to face with the golden snout of the dragon. And it was smiling.

“Well done, young regent,” the dragon rumbled. “You have found me.”

The others clamored out but stayed well away from the dragon curled like a cat on the stone rooftop. It regarded each and every one with that same unnerving amusement, but when its eyes landed on Merlin, they seemed to fill with something like pride. 

“I am happy to see you have heeded my words, young warlock. But you waste time coming here. You know I could have told you the way in which to escape.”

Arthur's bewildered gaze darted between the dragon and Merlin. “Told him? How?”

“I have my ways,” Kigarrah said as though in no mood to explain. “Why have you come? You must leave while you can.”

“Easier said than done,” Gwaine muttered.

“He's right. We need your help,” Merlin said. 

“I have not offered enough help?” Kilgarrah said curiously.

Merlin, twice as pale from his exertions, forced his lips to form a tremulous smile. “A little more would be much appreciated. Besides, you might like what I have in mind.” He then straightened as much as he could, pulling away from Gwaine as he appraoched the dragon without a hint of fear. “Tell me how to free you.”

Kilgarrah's eyes rounded over. “You are right, young warlock. I rather like how your mind works. As these chains were forged and locked with magic, so, too, must they be unlocked by them. Touch the manacle on my ankle and speak the words written upon them. Hurry!”

Merlin shuffled over to the dragon's back leg. He started to crouch but a yelp of pain made him freeze. Arthur hurried over and supported him the rest of the way into a kneel. 

“Thanks,” Merlin panted. He licked dry, cracked lips, then placed both hands on the wide, thick manacle wrapped around the large ankle. The words etched into the clean metal were gibberish to Arthur's eyes, a collection of fancy scribbles that resembled no language that Arthur knew of, and he knew plenty of languages. 

But Merlin took one look and nodded resolutely. Then he began to speak, the words as garbled as the lettering. Words of magic, so of course Arthur didn't know them. He'd never had a reason to. 

It was high time he rescinded that attitude.

Merlin's eyes flashed gold. There was a click. The manacles parted and it was with some effort, soon followed by Arthur's help, that Merlin pulled them away. Kilgarrah lifted his foot and rolled his ankle as if working out the kinks. He sighed.

“Oh, it has been so long since my powers infused me so. I have forgotten the joy of it. Thank you, young warlock. There had been no need for you to free me. I would have provided the distraction you required so long as it meant your escape. I will not forget your kindness.”

“Why is it so important that I escape?” Merlin asked. 

The Great Dragon rose onto his feet, rustling his wings in preparation for flight. “Permit me to tell you when time is not of the essence. Now go! I will keep them busy.” The dragon launched from the roof, buffeting the humans below with the hurricane force of his wings. He roared, and the sound was like thunder the very moment lightning has struck, filling the massive chamber until it shook. The dragon then inhaled, and when it exhaled, a fist of flames exploded from its jaws. Down below came the frantic the call to arms.

“Let's go,” Arthur said. He lifted Merlin to his feet and supported him back through the building, the others close behind. 

“Wait, we didn't ask it how to get out!” Gwaine said.

“He already told me,” Merlin said. “Go around this building then go straight as you can.”

Down on the ground, everything was chaos, the kind of chaos that didn't allow anyone to take the time to realize that they'd just past their quarry. The dragon was raining fire and death down on Morgause's people and the bullets fired from pistols did nothing except bounce off the dragon's armored hide. Arthur and his people made their way through the city unmolested, no longer having to duck and dodge through shadows and buildings. Arthur was starting to love dragons. 

“... damn you, Cenred, I sensed magic. They are near--- there!”

Arthur nearly stumbled. He looked back, his eyes going wide, to see Morgause, Cenred, Trickler and eight men ignoring the madness behind them in favor of their quarry just ahead. Cenred was shocked, Trickler frightened, but Mrogause enraged. She held out a hand and snarled ancient words.

Merlin held out his hand and gasped words back. A fire ball came hurtling toward them only to explode against a transparent wall that shimmered blue like water when hit. 

“Keep going, I'll hold them off!” Merlin said.

Arthur adjusted Merlin higher and dragged him forward. “Yeah, not this time. We're not leaving you behind.”

“You don't have to, just keep going!” Merlin's hand remained raised, another ball exploding against his shield.

“After them!” Morgause bellowed in rage. The men with her surged forward, led by Cenred. Gwaine, Lancelot, Gwen and Morgana scattered them with pistol fire. Once again they were forced to duck behind buildings to avoid return fire. 

“Whatever happens, stay together!” Arthur said.

“We're almost there,” Merlin said like a promise. 

But the problem with having so much cover was that it was just as much a benefit to the enemy. Cenred and two men appeared out of nowhere, blocking the path ahead. He smiled, showing teeth.

“Afternoon, Arthur.” Cenred raised his pistol.

A word from Merlin and the pistols flew from Cenred and his men's hands. Merlin heaved a weary sigh.

“Sorry, Arthur. It's all I have to strength for if I want to keep the sheild.”

“No worries,” Arthur said. “I have this.” He glance swiftly behind him, placing the location of his people. They were catching up but slowed trying to keep the enemy off their tail. Arthur looked ahead at Cenred advancing with his rapier at the ready. Arthur leaned Merlin against the wall of a building and unsheathed his. 

“You're not getting out of here, Pendragon,” Cenred said confidently, happily. “I promise you that. I always said I would finish what I had started when I tried to assasinate you.”

“And I always said I would gut you like a fish given half the chance,” Arthur said.

The two men advanced, circled, then lunged. Steel rang against steel, their swords colliding with furious moves. It was not the practice fights of Arthur's youth, light and poised as though more for show than survival. It was fast, vicious, their blades a silver blur, their feet in constant motion. They lunged trying to press the other back, trying to go in for the kill, only to meet more steel. Arthur managed to deliver a cut to Cenred's neck but at the price of a cut to his bicep. When Arthur delivered a shallow cut to Cenred's side, Arthur got one of his own to the chest.

They were too evenly matched.

It was Cenred's turn to press in, and just when Cenred was about to go in and deliver another cut to Arthur's body, the man stumbled. Arthur took the advantage and sliced Cenred across the stomach. Cenred stumbled back, clutching his gut and sneering at Arthur.

“You little bastard!” he growled. “Kill him!” His two men lifted their recently retrieved pistols. Gun fire cracked through the little alley. But Arthur felt no pain, and looking down saw only the blood from his cuts. When he looked up, Cenred's men collapsed back. 

“Sorry we're late,” Gwaine said, Morgana beside him. “We need to move. Lance and Gwen are keeping the rest occuppied but it won't be for long.”

“Right, but first we need to deal with--” Arthur began, but looking ahead, he saw the street now devoid of Cenred. “Damn coward. Right, let's go.” He gathered Merlin against his side, Merlin draping his arm around Arthur's neck. They kept moving.

“That was you that made Cenred trip,” Arthur said. He frowned. “That's cheating, you know.”

“I didn't know life or death situations came with rules. And you're welcome, by the way,” Merlin said. “Go right.”

They turned sharply.

“Straight, then right again,” Merlin said. “Follow that street.”

The street they were on was narrow, more like an alley. It wound upward bringing them to the otherside of the cavern. The path turned.

“Keep going straight,” Merlin said. 

They darted between two buildings, and then the city ended, the way ahead natural rock, a narrow field of boulders and stalagmites that they had to pick their way through without tripping. 

“Those two rocks, there,” Merlin said, pointing a little to the left at two dark gray stalagmites rising from the floor right against the cave wall. They gathered between them, facing... nothing, just a blank rock like any other rock face.

“Now what?” Arthur demanded. He looked at Merlin but the boy's eyes were closed. Arthur's chest seized with panic. He shook Merlin. “Merlin!”

“Give me a minute,” Merlin said.

“Mate, we might not have a minute,” Gwaine said, guarding the rear with Morgana.

Merlin said nothing. Then he opened his eyes and pushed away from Arthur toward the wall. Placing both hands on it, he spoke ancient words. A flash of gold in his eyes and a section of the wall crumbled into sand, revealing a wide, dark tunnel. 

Arthur wisely didn't question it, but he certainly planned to, later. “Let's go,” he said. 

Merlin summoned his ethereal ball, larger than before, to light the way. They piled into the tunnel big enough for an entire phalanx to get through – or refugees desperate to escape a magical purge. 

“Keep going straight. Don't take any of the side tunnels until we're three tunnels in. Those are just decoys.”

Three side-tunnels in and on the fourth tunnel Merlin shouted, “Right!” 

They had yet to so much as turn when the ground rumbled. Rocks split from the ceiling and crashed to the floor, piling on top of each other as they buried the only exit. They all whirled around.

Standing seven feet away was Trickler, a glowing orb in one hand, his other hand outstretched, and a manic smile on his face. But he was alone.

“Oh, you are going no where,” he breathed, eyes alight. “I haven't finished breaking you, little sorcerer.”

Gwaine cocked his gun and aimed it at Trickler. “This little bastard is mine,” he snarled.

“No!” Merlin said. He slipped from Arthur's hold. Limping forward unsteadily he said, his face empty and cold, “He's mine.”

Trickler laughed. “Oh, am I? Does the broken little sorcerer-mechanic think he can best me? I've got training, boy. Years upon years of it. What do you have? A few spells and a bit of luck?”

“Natural talent, actually,” Merlin said. He then thrust out both hands, his eyes flashing bright in the gloom. A whirlwind shot up from the ground and surged forward. It grabbed Trickler, and like a slingshot flung him violently back through the cave. Trickler went flying, screaming. He hit the ground with a crunch and the screaming stopped. 

“Impressive,” Morgana said with a small smirk. 

Merlin, panting, slumped, both arms going to his chest as he cradled his ribs and injured wrist. “Not really. He's just out cold. I'm getting a little less up for the heavy stuff.” And to prove his point, his body began to waver. Arthur rushed forward and supported him. 

“Now what?” Arthur said. “Do you think you have it in you to move enough rocks for us to get through?”

Merlin shook his head, then closed his eyes. “There's another way. Er, sort of. We Keep going straight, then left at the first turn-off. We need to hurry. Kilgarrah said he spotted Morgause and Cenred heading our way. They're about to join up and they managed to gather some men.”

“Off we go, then,” said Gwaine.

They hurried as fast as they could while still keeping Merlin on his feet. They came to a left turn and followed it, the pathway angling upward. Arthur could already smell fresh air and felt a cold, mountain breeze tug at his collar. A gentle turn and the pale light of outside nearly blinded him. He shielded his eyes and plowed through.

Merlin lurched back with a yelped, “Arthur, stop!”

Arthur skidded to a halt – with only four inches between him and a sudden drop. They were on a wide ledge, high up the mountain enough for them to see the entire valley, and not a single way down that Arthur could see, not even if they were to climb.

“How the hell is this a way out?” Gwaine said.

“I said sort of,” Merlin said sheepishly. “Just stand to the side, make room, lots of it. And have patience. This is going to take a moment.” Merlin thrust out his hand, the one with the bruised wrist. He winced, then spoke his magic words.

Nothing happened.

“Merlin?” Arthur said through clenched teeth.

“Just give it a moment,” Merlin snapped. 

“We don't know if we have a moment. I hear voices coming our way,” Gwen said.

“How the hell did they find us,” Gwaine said.

Merlin cringed. “My magic. Morgause can sense it. But it shouldn't be long, now. Look, there!”

Arthur looked to where Merlin pointed, and burst out laughing. A flyer was heading toward them, glittering gold in the early morning light. It glided swiftly to them, but in doing so inadvertantly attracted the many flyers still searching the valley. 

The enemy behind them, more enemy heading their way – escape was going to be a tight squeeze.

Merlin's dragon flyer landed on the ledge, latching onto it with its metal claws. It lowered its head and the cockpit doors whined opened. 

“Uh, Merlin, mate, not to split hairs but don't you think it might be a touch too crowded for the lot of us?” Gwaine said.

“Lords, don't any of you know how to be patient?” Merlin groused. “Arthur, you'll need to go with me. The rest of you, get to its back.”

Arthur carried Merlin to the cockpit, helped him climb his painful way inside then climbed in after, squeezing uncomfortably behind him. Merlin flipped a switch and there followed another whine. A glance over the shoulder showed Arthur a portion of the flyer's back part open revealing four seats. The flyer's body lowered and the Order clamored inside.

“Sorry to doubt you, Mate,” Gwaine said laughingly.

“Hope none of you are claustrophobic,” Merlin said. Lancelot, paling, looked about to say something but never had the chance when the doors slid shut, sealing the flyer's back. The cockpit doors followed. Arthur saw, through the view window, Morgause, Cenred, a bloody Trickler and their men pile out of the cave entrance. Merlin gripped two handles, his eyes flashed, and the flyer tipped off of the ledge into the sky. Arthur's stomach shot into his throat.

But then the flyer rose, angling toward the blue sky. It suddenly rolled, Arthur's stomach rolling with it, as a fireball shot harmlessly past. But the enemy flyers were converging with two flyers coming staight at them.

“Hold on!” Merlin said. His flyer dover, skimming perilously close to the trees, then rose, shooting past the two flyers, then leveling out to fly overhead. Merlin angled left sharply, Arthur could feel the sudden shift in his rolling gut, and bullets flashed harmless past. Merlin angled again the other way and more bullets skimmed harmlessly by. The flyers kept coming, but Merlin kept dodging – diving, climbing, spinning, even going back the way they had come causing two flyers to crash into each other. 

But the flyers still came, still giving chase, and Arthur cringed when he heard the sharp ping of bullets bouncing off the metal skin. With the space so cramped Arthur had no place to put his hands except Merlin's back. He could feel the boy's fast, heaving breaths and felt the slight tremors rippling through him growing stronger by the minute.

“Merlin, how are you. The truth!” Arthur demanded. He gulped when Merlin did another roll to avoid gunfire.

“Been better, to be honest,” Merlin said through a clenched jaw. “It's not the most--” he dove, “comfortable position.” He rose.

 _It wouldn't be with broken ribs, it would be agony,_ Arthur thought. He placed a hand on Merlin's shoulder and squeezed. “You can do it, Merlin.”

“If they'd just stop coming. There's too many!” Merlin angled right only to drop, rise, faster, sharper, and Arthur thought for sure his was going to vomit. The flyers were everywhere like a swarm of jackals, and Merlin's trembling was becoming worse. 

Four flyers were coming right at them, three more joining them, two flanking on one side and one on the other, blocking a clear way to escape.

Merlin's shoulders stiffened under Arthur's hands.

Suddenly, a fist of flame punched into the four flyers. The rest of the flyers scattered madly in either direction, clearing a straight path. A great golden body appeared just ahead of Merlin's flyer. The ancient head looked back, nodded once, then Kilgarrah veered away.

Arthur laughed like a maniac, clapping Merlin's shoulder.

“Er, Arthur, that... hurts...” Merlin croaked.

Arthur winced. “Sorry, sorry.”

They flew without opposition over the mountain to the other side of the valley. But Merlin was still shaking, his breaths even heavier. Arthur gave another squeeze to his shoulder, lighter this time, in reassurance. 

“You did it, Merlin. We're safe, now.”

“Good,” Merlin said. Arthur heard him swallow. “Because I don't know how much longer I can keep going.”

~oOo~

Much longer than even Merlin gave himself credit for, as it turned out. They flew well into the afternoon, then landed – suddenly, it seemed – in a clearing by a lake near a road. Arthur heard Merlin mutter something about not being able to take it any more. Once on the ground, Merlin needed all of Arthur's help along with Lancelot's and Gwaine's just to get out.

“He's warm,” Lancelot said. “I think some of his injuries may be infected.”

Arthur sent Gwaine and Lancelot to follow the road to find help, while he, Gwen, and Morgana made camp with what supplies they had. They laid a barely conscious Merlin on a blanket after stripping him of his coat then shirt. The injuries hidden under his clothes were as bad as the ones on his face, his body peppered with little cuts and massive bruising on either side of his ribcage. They bound the most serious injuries using all the bandages from the little first aid kit in the flyer.

The flyer lay motionless within the shadow of the trees, just like its pilot. 

Evening came. Morgana lit a fire and Gwen boiled some water to drink. Gwaine and Lancelot had yet to return. Arthur took first and last watch, so would be awake to see the sun rise. The only change to Merlin's condition was that he was warmer than before.

“Maybe Morgana and I should follow the road in the other direction,” Gwen said. “Maybe there's a town closer by that way.”

But Arthur shook his head. “No. The more we're divided the more vulnerable we'll be. I won't risk it.”

Gwen pursed her lips, her hands folded in her lap. “Arthur... he's getting worse,” she said.

Arthur took a breath and released it slowly. “I know. I shouldn't have sent Gwaine. He knows flyers, he could have figured out how to use Merlin's.”

“Not if the only way to fly it is through magic,” Gwen said. “Arthur, you made the right decision. At this point, all we can do is our best and have hope. We got away, and if what Merlin says is true then our escape has somehow prevented Morgause from finding the Emrys.” She placed her hand on his shoulder. “We got Merlin out.”

Yes, they did get Merlin out, an endeavor that wouldn't mean a thing if he died. Which, for some reason, was all that seemed to matter to Arthur at themoment. Not whether Morgause and Cenred had found this Emrys. 

But, then, Arthur had always counted his losses in human lives, not in whether or not he had retrieved some trinket. It was an attitude his father had never approved of. Victory had never been some ancient sword no longer in enemy hands, but how many of Arthur's people had made it out alive. 

It would have been Arthur captured and tortured if not for Merlin. It still surprised Arthur, considering that it wasn't all that long ago he had tried to take Merlin down for mouthing off. But that was missions for you, Arthur supposed. You never knew a man's true heart until a mission. Merlin was still a skinny idiot, of course.

Just a loyal and brave idiot as well. 

Arthur looked at him, his face shining with sweat and his brow pinched with pain. He was breathing fast again. They had done all they could for him, but it didn't feel like enough. 

The sky exchanged its black starry mantle for the blue-gray of growing dawn.

A distant grinding noise like old complaining gears ripped Arthur from his thoughts. He rose, one hand on his pistol, the other his rapier. He stepped over the sleeping forms of his people to the road, stared at where it vanished into the trees, and waited.

Five steam trucks rattled and rumbled into the light. Arthur stepped back, planting his heel into the dirt in preparation to pivot for a dash back to camp, when a familiar voice halted him.

“Princess!”

Arthur coughed a laugh.

Gwaine was hanging out one of the windows, smiling his biggest smile. “Guess who we found!”

The trucks trundled to a halt. Gwaine hopped from the passenger side, Elyan from the driver's seat. Lancelot emerged from the other truck, Gaius with him, while more men from the Chariot slid from the cabs or hopped out from the canvas-covered truck beds. 

The sun climbed over the mountains, filling the valley with light the color of Merlin's eyes whenever he did magic. 

TBC...


	11. Chapter 11

Merlin had expected at some point to wake up in a bed, most likely in a vast room smelling of the chemicals normally associated with hospitals. He recalled waking a few times to being wrapped in blankets, and Gaius' wrinkled and calloused on on his forehead smoothing back his hair or coaxing him into taking some vile potion. It was the bitter, acrid taste of those medicines that had told him, rather forecefully, that he wasn't dreaming.

So he was a little more than surprised when he woke to find himself in his tiny room in Gaius' chambers. It was such a shock that, for a moment – a very brief moment – Merlin wondered if everything that had happened – the journey, the underground city, the dragon, his torture and escape – had all been a dream. Then he shifted, trying to get more comfortable, and gritted his teeth against the pain flaring through his chest.

Nope. Not a dream, then. 

“Gaius,” Merlin called, or tried to but his throat wasn't having any of it. He cleared it, it protested by burning momentarily, and he tried again. 

Gaius hurried in, looking both bemused and happy, then just happy. He fussed over Merlin, ignoring Merlin's myriad of questions until Gaius was satisified by the results of his poking and prodding. Gaius still didn't tell Merlin anything until after Merlin had a full glass of water and a teaspoon of medicine. 

“The escape flyers landed near a small village, but the moment we realized that the Order wasn't with us we immediately began organizing a rescue. Not an easy feat in a small village with a sporadically functioning telegraph, let me tell you,” Gaius said.

They had remained in the village, waiting for reinforcements, when a patrol brought in two prisoners who just happened to be Gwaine and Lancelot dressed in enemy uniforms. Merlin's fever had been quite high by then – infections compounded by the stress of his injuries - so no surprise that he remembered very little. Thankfully the village had its own doctor with a most excellent practice who had aided Gaius in getting Merlin's fever down. Reinforcements had arrived by then along with a derrigible to take everyone back to Camelot – and, yes, Merlin's precious flyer included. Arthur had made sure of it. 

“What of Morgause, Cenred, the city?” Merlin asked almost frantically.

Gaius patted the air to calm him. “Settle down, Merlin. You're still too weak to deal with getting excited.” He sighed heavily, not looking particularly happy. “It took time for help to come. We found the valley, but the only sign anyone had been there were a few camp fires.”

“And the city?”

“The last telegram we recived told us entrance was finally gained but they had yet to find anything of interest. Either the Emrys wasn't there or...” Gaius trailed off.

“Or they found it,” Merlin said. But he shook his head. “No. The dragon said that as long as I escaped then it wouldn't be found.”

“Ah, yes, the dragon,” Gaius said, sounding wistful. “Arthur told us of it. I'm not sure how your escape would have helped, unless it was to provoke Morgause and Cenred into abandoning the search before our people arrived. But... it would have been most odd. Morgause is not known to be one who gives up so easily. She would have put up a fight until either she found what she was looking for or died trying.”

“So, you think the dragon was wrong?” Merlin asked.

Gaius pressed his lips together, thought, then shook his head. “I'm not sure. The Great Dragons were labeled 'Great' for a reason. Their magic is considered the second most powerful magic in the world, only rivaled by the sidhe. Among their many gifts is the ability to calculate possible futures. If the dragon said that your escape would prevent Morgause from finding the Emrys... well, speaking for myself, I'm rather inclined to believe him.”

Which helped put Merlin's mind at ease. 

Merlin, home, safe, and most of his pains numbed by medicine, slept for the rest of the day, waking only long enough for Gaius to ply him with some food. Otuside his little window, day eased itself into night, Merlin still weary enough to be able to sleep through it, and more than happy to do so.

 _Merlin_.

Merlin's eyes snapped open. 

He knew that voice ehcoing in his head. 

_Merlin. I know you can hear me, young warlock. Meet me in the courtyard. Quickly._

Merlin groaned miserably.

_It will not be for long. I wish only to tell you what you need to know, I promise._

_It can't wait?_ Merlin asked.

_I am afraid it can't. But it will be worth it. That, too, I promise._

It was with another groan that Merlin forced his aching body out from under the pile of warm coverlets. He was dressed in his sleeping shirt and the old, comfortable trousers a bit too frayed to wear in public. He didn't bother to change, nor tie his boots, and took only long enough to slip into his coat – a hard lesson in mild discomfort. 

Merlin padded softly down the little steps into Gaius' chamber, passed Gaius' bed tucked into its little alcove, with Gaius a large snoring lump under the covers. The headquarters of the Order was dark, but nothing an orb of light only Merlin could see couldn't handle.

Merlin had just stepped outside into the cool night, shivering despite his coat, when a dark shape detached itself from the shadows of a pillar.

“Going somewhere?” Arthur asked.

Merlin jumped, the jolt of his frazzled muscles pulling on his broken ribs. He hissed, cradling his chest with his arm – the one with the bandaged wrist.

Arthur stepped into the light of the orb, blinking against even its mild brightness now that he was in range enough to see it. He placed a hand on Merlin's shoulder. 

“All right?” he asked.

“Yeah, I'll be fine,” Merlin said, waving him off.

“Fine enough to get back to bed, I hope?”

Merlin gave him a sheepish look. “Um... yes, perfectly fine. I'll just see myself back, if you don't mind--”

“Merlin,” Arthur said.

“Arthur,” Merlin said.

“You're a rubbish liar, you know that?”

Merlin narrowed his eyes at Arthur. “And you're a prat. Well, good night.” He then proceeded forward.

Arthur's hand still on his shoulder stopped him. “Merlin. What are you doing out here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“You could, but I'm not the one with severe injuires who only recently overcame a fever.”

Merlin opened his mouth even while wracking his brain for a proper explanation that didn't make him sound mad, when the ground shook beneath the sudden impact of a very large, gold body.

“That would be my doing, young regent,” Kilgarrah said.

Arthur looked up and took an involuntary step back. “Uh, should you be here? The guards--”

Kilgarrah smiled his amused smile. “Are busy looking the other way. Do not judge me by my size, Pendragon. There have been dragons larger than I who practiced such stealth that even the most wary did not see them coming until it was too late. And... the aid of a few spells does make life easier.”

“Okay, then,” Arthur said. “I suppose that explains why no alarm bells. What are you doing here? Not planning to burn down the city, I hope.”

Merlin nudged him hard in the ribs. Arthur nudged him back, making sure to aim for his arm.

“I am here to repay a kindness,” Kilgarrah said. “By assuring you that your enemy, the dark sorceress Morgause, did not find the Emrys, as I had promised she wouldn't.”

“Oh,” Arthur said with a blink of surprise. 

Merlin's eyes widened up at the dragon. “But how? What did our escape have to do with preventing her from finding it?”

Kilgarrah's large eyes regarded Merlin with something like glee. “Everything, young warlock. Everything.”

“But what is the Emrys?” Arthur asked. “If no one is meant to find it that's fine enough with me but I, for one, would at least like to know what it is.”

Which made Kilgarrah chuckle. “Oh, young Pendragon. This, you see, is why no one has ever been able to find the Emrys. Many have tried, beleive me. But, for one, for many of those adventurers, the Emrys had yet to exist. For others, such as yourself, young Pendragon, you continue to assume that the Emrys is an it.'”

“It's... not an it,” Arthur said slowly.

“Oh, no. Not an it at all, but a _he_.”

Merlin chuckled. “You mean all this time people were looking for a thing and it's actually a person?”

“Indeed.”

But then Merlin immedaitely sobered. “But... does that mean he's still in the city, living all alone?” 

“Of course not. He never lived in the city. He never knew of it's existance until that very day. But I did not lie when I told the sorceress that he was near. Right under her very nose, in fact.” Kilgarrah looked at Merlin, his gaze keen. “Already in her posession, as she treated him with only cruelty.”

Merlin stared at Kilgarrah. Kilgarrah continued to stare at him.

Merlin's brain, sluggish with medicines and the continuing need to rest, took its sweet time putting it together. He gaped.

“No.”

“Yes,” Kilgarrah said.

Merlin's heart began to race. “There must be some mistake. I'm... I'm just a mechanic!”

“A mechanic born with a power that takes others years to master.”

Arthur's head, in the mean time, was doing a remarkable impression of a weather vain in a storm, pivoting between Merlin and the dragon, his brow creasing with confusion. 

“Wait...” he said. He looked to the dragon. “Are you saying... is he...” he pointed at Merlin. “That he...?”

“That Merlin is the Emrys?” Kilgarrah said. His eyes danced with mirth. “Yes.”

“What?” Arthur gasped.

“What?” Merlin squeaked.

Kilgarrah chuckled. “Emrys is a name, young warlock. The name given to the one who would not be born merely with the gift of magic, but who would be a creature of magic. It is not a talent, it is what you are. Magic is woven into your very being, as much a part of you as your blood, your bones, and your heart. You are destined for great things, young warlock. It was foreseen by many when the world would be in great need, and that there would come a man whose destiny it was to aid the protector of this realm.”

“Protector, what protector?” Merlin said, his voice quavering.

Kilgarrah turned his amber eyes to Arthur. Arthur paled.

“Me!” he yelped.

“Yes, young Pendragon,” Kilgarrah said. “You. You are this realm's greatest hope, as Merlin is magic's greatest hope. Together you will bring this realm into a golden age, protect it from its greatest threats. A task you have already undertaken, young Pendragon. But until now you were only one side of the coin. Together, you are two sides of the same coin, your destinies entwined.”

Merlin looked at Arthur, Arthur at Merlin.

“Well,” Arthur said, his voice rough. “I suppose it's a good thing I didn't pulvarize you at the hangar.”

“Only because I didn't _let_ you,” Merlin said indignantly.

Kilgarrah laughed. “That is all I wished to tell you. I will now leave you to fulfill what has been foreseen, and wish you both good luck in your endeavors.”

“Will we ever see you again?” Merlin aked.

Kilgarrah's head reared back in mild surprise. “Of course, young warlock. I, too, am a guardian of magic. And I will be there whenever you have need of me.”

The dragon then launched into the air and flew away into the night.

Merlin watched him go, but the moment the dragon was beyond sight, he deflated, his body feeling suddenly heavy as though carrying an unseen weight.

He was the Emrys, the thing an insane sorceress and muderous disgraced lord had killed for. The thing Arthur had lost men, and nearly lost himself, for.

As if Merlin wasn't enough of a freak.

Arthur's heavy sigh yanked Merlin from his dour musings.

“All right,” Arthur said. “What is it?”

Merlin blinked at him. “What is what?”

“What's wrong?” Arthur said. “You look like someone just kicked your favorite kitten.”

Merlin glanced at him forlornly, but already knew that this time there would be no enemies to distract Arthur from the matter at hand.

“Do you remember,” Merlin said, “When you asked me why I never attended any schools of magic?”

“Yes,” Arthur said.

“I could have, you know. Raw talent like mine would have won me all kinds of scholarships. It did get me scholarships, actually. We'd get sorcerers dropping by and they would hear of me and want to meet me, and my mum and I, we'd be all happy about it thinking they could explain why I was the way that I was. But the way they'd look at me...” Merlin's fingers clenched into a tight, shaking fist. “It's like I wasn't even a person, just some _thing_ they wanted to put in a room and study. They would ask me for hair samples, blood samples. One bloke even asked me for a urine sample. They didn't want to train me, they just wanted to study me, like some animal in a zoo.”

Merlin met Arthur's gaze and held it. “They looked at me and saw a _thing_ , Arthur. A literal freak of both nature and magic. And I knew that the moment I stepped into any sorcerer school, that's all I would be, a freak, a thing to be studied and locked away where no one can use me for ill purposes, like some artifact. Arthur, I...” he shuddered. “I don't want to be a thing.”

Arthur was silent for a moment as he studied Merlin.

“Funny,” he said at last. “All I've been seeing is a skinny idiot. Abeit a very brave, selfless skinny idiot, even if he is a bit too quick to sacrifice himself and has absolutely no sense of propriety toward his future regent what so ever. And, yet, despite all evidence pointing to a rather annoying amount of cheek, I still have yet to find suffecient reason to go back on the decision I'd made.”

Merlin looked at him warily. “What decision?”

~oOo~

Merlin decided that he hated ceremonies, even ones that couldn't exactly be called public. It was just him, the Order, Gaius, but also Uther, and that was nerve-wracking enough. 

But it was also a little exciting, like being knighted. Exactly like being knighted, actually, at least according to the stories. There was a fancy chair, gilded gold and padded in red, that Uther stood before while Merlin knelt before him. The regent didn't look particularly happy, but not even he could refute all that Merlin had done not only for the Order but his son (that Merlin was Emrys... hadn't really been divulged to Uther, Arthur seeing no reason for it since it would only mean those idiot sorcerer-scholars poking and prodding at Merlin only to find out that he was little more than the skinny idiot Arthur claimed him to be). Uther tapped Merlin on either side of the shoulder with a rather large, imposing sword. With the “knighting” done, he bade Merlin rise, gave him a ring with an image of a dragon stamped on the front, then a folder full of various papers – rules, regulations, things expected of him and so on – that he was going to have to read, _thoroughly_. 

But that didn't matter, because it was wonderful and terrifying and made Merlin both giddy and sick at the same time. Then it was over and Merlin was herded into the lounge by Gwaine and Morgana for a drink. 

The very next day, a man with a camera arrived for the annual photo of the Order of Avalon to be hung within the halls alongside past photos and paintings of past Order members. The Order gathered in the sitting room – Gwain, Lancelot, Morgana, Gwen, their leader Arthur, and their newest member, dressed in his coat, his goggles around his neck, the Order's first mechanic-warlock, Merlin.

The End


End file.
